The Perfume
by Well I Don't Mind
Summary: He feels her scent in the woods, and like the smell of innocence leads the wolf to the doe, the perfume leads him to her. Based on the two Snatcher-scenes in the woods from DH Part 1. M rated. PAUSED!
1. Prologue

**Summary: **He feels her scent in the woods, and like the smell of innocence leads the wolf to the doe, the perfume leads him to her.

Based upon the two Snatcher-scenes in the woods from DH Part 1.

**A/N: **So, when I saw this movie at the cinema, I immediately felt an attraction between those two, and decided that I had to do something about it. But it took me a while to get it down on paper, and here's the result. I will try my best to update as often as possible, but due to other projects, I can't promise anything. But don't worry, I won't quit on you! :)

Oh.. and I like **reviews** ;) You know, a simple "Hi, I'm reading this" is just fine :) Also, if you think this is bad, then say so. Don't go all passive on me, folks! :)

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Harry Potter universe, no matter how much I wish I did. It belongs to J.K Rowling (and Warner Brothers)!

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><p><em><strong>The Perfume<strong>_

**Prologue  
><strong>_Scent_**  
><strong>

"What's tha'?" He stopped. The faint and sweet smell of blooming elder and apples brushed lightly against his face. He looked around. There was no one there, but he could smell the sweet fragrance of a woman's perfume. He saw her in front of him; a petite woman with honey-blonde hair, emerald, gleaming eyes, freckles, sweet, peach-flavoured, heart-shaped lips and a mild, singing voice. The image made him smirk, but it did not fit well in the scenery of the woods. He concentrated on hearing if there was someone else in the forest, but he couldn't hear anything. He went back a few steps and looked around again. "What's that… smell?" He inhaled the faint scent and waited. Waited for a sound, a sign. Anything. But the scent was transfixing, and it was like there was something magical preventing him from finding whoever possessed such a scent. But he was ripped out of his thoughts by one of his Snatchers dropping the body they had been carrying. "What you doin'?"

"It's heavy!"

"Oh, sorry, do you want me to carry it?"

"Yeah, thank you."

He rolled his eyes. "Don' be ridiculous! Pick it up!"

The Snatcher sighed and picked the body up. The other's laughed. Scabior still looked around.

"What's wrong, Scab?" Fenrir asked.

"Nothin'," he muttered. But it wasn't _nothing._ It was far from nothing. That perfume was not the kind of scent to find in a forest, and it intrigued him. He had always had a soft spot for a woman's perfume. He shook his head and looked at the others. "Wha' you idiots all waitin' for? Let's go!"

**.:{*}:.**

Hermione sighed heavily in both horror and relief. The dark-haired, tall, slender man with piercing, grey eyes had been standing so close, she could feel the heat radiating off of him. Her heart was racing. Her spell worked, and if it hadn't worked, she would have been caught, and who knows what those horrible men would have done to her? Her knees shook. She was terrified. What had she gotten herself into, really? Who was the person those men were carrying? Was the person dead or alive? She couldn't tell. She could hardly move, afraid that they might hear, even though they walked further and further away from her.

"Snatchers."

Harry startled her from behind. Hermione turned to look at him.

"Good to know your enchantments work."

She exhaled and looked towards the Snatchers again. "He could smell it," she said hoarsely, "my perfume." Why had she been wearing that bloody perfume in the first place? Oh, that's right, because she wanted to cheer Ron up, because he was hurt, and because he had been a bit down lately, so she had used that perfume he had gotten her that Christmas. But had he noticed her efforts to make herself special for him? No. But this mysterious, strange, dangerous and dark man noticed it, despite the wards. She could still feel his eyes looking right through her, as if he'd actually seen her, and she swallowed.

Harry swallowed, too. "We need to get out of here."

"Yes," Hermione breathed. She had never been more eager to leave a place. "Yes, we do." They turned to walk back towards the tent, both tense and a bit jumpy.

"We need to leave as soon as possible," Harry said lowly.

"I've told you," Hermione muttered, "Ron isn't strong enough to Apparate."

"Well," Harry said and sighed, "then, we'll go on foot."

Hermione looked at him and gasped. On foot? With the Snatchers out looking for them?

"And next time, Hermione," Harry said, a bit annoyed, "as much as I like your perfume, just don't wear any."

She swallowed. No, she wasn't likely to use that perfume ever again.


	2. Haunted

**A/N:** Here's chapter one. To be honest, it hasn't been that easy to develop a personality for Scabior, since there isn't so much to go on, but I've done my best, and I hope you all like it! :)

**Update:** Changes have been made due to a small (well, pretty major) mistake, and I blame it on my mathematical weakness. Numbers are my Kryptonite!

Enjoy!

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><p><em><strong>The Perfume<strong>_

**Chapter One**_  
>Haunted<em>

Time flew, even though Hermione felt as if they were running through thick water. Ron had left. She hated to admit the fact that Ron actually had left. He had left them. He had left _her_. Her heart was broken, smashed into a million pieces. She wanted nothing more than to have him back. He leaving them had left her so tense. Harry was tense, too, of course, and she didn't blame him. He seemed to be convinced that it was he who had to die for this to end. But he kept a positive attitude, and tried to cheer Hermione up every day, even though they were going through some tough times. The locked didn't make things better, though. Since there was now only two of them, the amount of time they had to wear it each, increased. And Hermione felt the weight of it; depressions, sleepless nights, endless tears… oh yes, she felt the weight of it.

This night, in late November, she was sitting on her watch, outside the tent, wearing the locket. Harry was fast asleep inside the tent, and Hermione sat curled up by a tree with one of her lighted jars beside her. Tears rolled down her cheek, and she used the sleeve of her coat to muffle her sobs. She wanted nothing but to have Ron back and for the three of them to be at Hogwarts, at a time when there was no danger, no Voldemort. But she knew that would never be again. She knew that no matter the outcome of this war, such a time would be no more. Suddenly, she heard a noise. Voices. Very faint ones, but voices all the same. She looked up and about. Her heart began to race. Somehow, she wished it was Ron, bringing the twins, or perhaps even Ginny. It had to be Ron. The wish was so strong, she got on her feet to sneak a bit closer. She held her wand tightly in her hand as she wrapped her coat closed around her and started walking. She didn't want to drift too far from the tent, and especially not outside the wards. Then she realised, that if it was Ron, he wouldn't be able to find them because of the wards! She stopped and turned. The Invisibility Cloak was in Hermione's handbag, and the bag was in the tent. But Harry was asleep, so he wouldn't possibly notice if she slipped inside to grab it, would he? She took a deep breath and decided to give it a try. If he woke up, she could always give him an excuse. She hurried back and snuck into the tent. Harry was snoring. She walked carefully up to her bag and opened it. She reached out her wand and whispered, "accio cloak," and the cloak came whirling up from the bag. Together with the bottle of perfume she had gotten from Ron. It must have been placed inside of the cloak, somehow. It fell to the floor with a loud thud, and Hermione held her breath, afraid that it would be enough to wake Harry. But he gave a loud snore and turned over in his bed. She exhaled in relief and looked at the small, glass-bottle on the floor. She had promised herself never to use it again, but wouldn't it be nice to smell good for Ron? Wouldn't it be nice for him to feel welcomed back? She stood looking at the bottle for a while. It screamed for her. It begged her to pick it up. And she did. She picked up the bottle and opened it. The sweet smell of elder and apples brushed up against her, and she sighed. She loved that perfume, but she had almost never worn it. There hadn't been enough opportunities. With another sigh, she removed the lid and poured a drop on her wrist before she put it on the table. She rubbed her wrists together and then rubbed her neck before she grabbed the cloak and swept it around her and left the tent again to start walking towards where she was sure she'd heard Ron. With every step she took, her conviction of that it_ was_ Ron that had come back, increased, and it was only a matter of seconds before she was running. She saw a light, and she was sure – so sure! – she saw something ginger glitter in the light! She was just about to call out for him when she heard laughter, and her heart stopped. She immediately stopped running and froze on spot. It wasn't Ron. Ron did not sound like that. His laughter did not sound like that. And it was far more people that Hermione first had expected, and then it hit her – Snatchers. Of course it was Snatchers! And she had been foolish and naive enough to go running straight at them! And now she was outside the safety of the wards, but she still had the cloak on, so they couldn't see her. But she could see them. She couldn't see their faces, but she could see that they were sitting by a fire, and that there were five or six of them.

"You wanker!" one of them said. "Greyback, you're as ugly as you could possibly get without stupid props, but now you look ridiculous! Take tha' damn thing off! Give it!"

Hermione gasped. It wasn't only Snatchers – one of them was Fenrir Greyback, and Hermione had had enough experience with that creature to last for a lifetime.

"C'mon, Scabior, you humourless bastard!" Fenrir laughed, and a shiver ran through Hermione. "It was only a joke! It's only a bleeding scarf!"

"Humourless?" the first one, Scabior, said. "My humour is impeccable, thank you. You alone are a laughing matter, but I don' like you takin' my stuff!"

"Sorry then," Fenrir said. "I just wanted to look sharper than my teeth!"

This made Scabior laugh as well as the others.

"You sods," he laughed. "Right, I'm goin' for a piss."

Hermione still couldn't move. She was both petrified by her own stupidity and by fear that someone might hear her if she moved. A tall figure came walking towards her, and she held her breath. It was that Snatcher from the woods. And she was wearing that damn perfume again! Oh, could she have been any stupider? But he didn't seem to notice, for he never got close enough to smell her. He took a right turn, and Hermione exhaled in relief. But instead of turning back towards the tent, as she should have done, she kept her eyes at the Snatcher. He intrigued her some. She didn't know how, and she didn't know why, but he did. Perhaps it was the way he had seen right through her that night, or perhaps it was the fact that he had noticed her when nobody else had. Whatever the reason was, she didn't know. So, instead of doing the right thing, she did the complete opposite and followed the man deeper into the forest. Her heart was in her throat as she followed as quietly as she could. When he stopped and started to fiddle with his pants, Hermione quickly hid behind a tree. She didn't want to watch him do… that! She slapped herself mentally for being do stupid as she heard him whistle. Why had she even come? What made her think that it actually was Ron? She shook her head at her own stupidity and started to walk back towards the tent. But she didn't watch where she was placing her feet, and stepped right on a branch which broke, and the sound echoed in the silent forest. He stopped whistling. Hermione froze.

"Hello?" The Snatcher sounded very suspicious. "Who's there?"

She could hear him come closer, and she held her breath. He became visible for her again, and he had drawn his wand. He came closer, without seeing her, and then he stopped. She observed him; he was tall. Perhaps a head taller than Hermione. And he was fit; muscular but slender. Probably from chasing and catching all of those innocent Muggleborn. Like many other from the Wizarding World, he didn't seem to be very familiar with fashion, and his tall and lithesome body was covered with a pair of trousers that looked more like a pair that The Sex Pistols could have worn rather than a Snatcher, accompanied by a black, studded belt, together with a pair of worn out combat boots and a worn out shirt that must have belonged to a richer man once, judging by the looks of it. On top of it he wore a black, leather coat with a red scarf tied on his left upper arm, and his dark, long, wild hair was bound loosely at his neck and had one red streak in it. As for his face, he looked to be around his mid thirties, or younger. His lines were distinct with high cheekbones and strong jawbones. Short, dark stubble covered his jaw-section, and a thin layer of black charcoal was placed under his eyes. He was somehow handsome. She couldn't deny that. Even though he wasn't the kind of handsome she preferred, he was still handsome, in a dark and rugged sort of way. Even though there was a certain darkness over him, there was also a flame of some sort in his scanning eyes. He looked around and took a deep breath, and then a smirk slowly appeared upon his lips. She knew he had felt it again, and she felt how the panic was rising.

"Well," he smirked. "Nice to meet you again, darlin', wherever you are." He circled around her, but didn't walk away. Even though the cloak hid her position, the perfume did not. She slowly pressed herself against the nearest tree, as quietly as possible, hoping that he would eventually get tired of searching for her, and leave.

"How nice of you to leave me a souvenir," he said smugly and pulled something out of his pocket. It was her scarf. The one she'd left right after Ron had left them. She gasped. She left it for Ron! Not for this sinister man! "Oh, did I 'ear a little gasp, there, lovely?" Then he laughed. "Smells great, by the way." He hung it around his neck and smirked while moved it across his face and inhaled its smell.

Hermione closed her eyes and prayed to whatever she could pray to for this man to leave.

He laughed. "Oh, love, why hide? I won' hurt ya!"

Hermione fought the urge to snort at this comment, but succeeded not to.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," he smirked and just so happened to look straight at where Hermione stood, right at the moment when she opened her eyes. Dark, steel-grey eyes pierced through hers, and she shivered violently. He took a step closer and lowered his voice, "I know you're 'ere, love. Show yourself."

"_Oi, Scab!_" someone from the camp shouted. "_Did you piss yourself do death, or wha'?_"

The Snatcher, Scabior, clenched his jaw in clear vexation and looked around. "'Til next time, my lovely." Then he turned and walked away.

Hermione let out a big sigh of relief. Her legs were more like jelly than actual legs, and as she stumbled away, she couldn't think of anything else than his grey eyes, piercing so deep inside of her, it almost hurt.

**.:{*}:.**

Oh, how that scent haunted him. Sometimes he thought he was going mad! He'd been tracking that scent down like a dog, but for no use. But tonight, he'd felt it again. He knew it wasn't from the scarf, because the perfume was starting to wear off from it. No, this had been fresh. And the worst thing was, that he knew this woman was just playing tricks on him. He didn't know whether he was the hunter, or if he was the hunted anymore. Twice he'd been certain that something magical had prevented him from seeing her. Tonight, he'd been almost sure that she had been standing by that tree, and if he didn't know any better, he might have thought that she was simply a ghost. But he would find her. She couldn't hide from him forever. He brought the scarf to his face and inhaled its sweet scent once more before he caught a glimpse of the camp. They were all laughing at him, he knew that, thinking that he was a true madman and that the years in Azkaban had taken their toll on him, but he had never had a clearer view of things than now. He would catch her. He would have her.

He joined his fellow men by the camp fire and sat down.

"Took you long enough, eh?" Frank said.

"Can' a man take a piss without you naggin'?" Scabior muttered.

"Alright," Fenrir said. "Time's soon up, boys. We've gotta catch Potter, and that's soon. So let's focus. He's a tricky bastard."

"I still don' get it!" Frank said. "'Ow do they think we're gonna find Harry bloody Potter jus' like tha'?"

"No, no," Scabior said. "We're not goin' to him; he'll come to us."

"Wha' you mean?"

"He's gonna use the Dark Lord's name sooner or later," Scabior said. "And when he does, we'll be there to catch 'im, and 'is little friends."

"The girl's mine," Fenrir smirked.

"The mudblood?" Franks snorted. "Sure. You could 'ave 'er, for all I care."

"Forget it," Scabior said. "We're not takin' anyone of those for ourselves. Those three are goin' directly to Malfoy Manor. They'll make us a fortune, they will!"

"Oh, I bet she's a little minx, that one," Fenrir smirked. "Then you'd want to have a little taste of her, too, wouldn't you?" Then he laughed. "Besides, whoever said we had to bring them directly? We could have a little bit of fun before we bring them!"

"An' people say I'm mad?" Scabior said and raised a brow. "But sure, if you wan' Bellatrix Lestrange's fury upon you, be my guest."

"Yeah, go ahead, spoil the fun!" Fenrir muttered.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Scabior said. "She's wha'? Seventeen? Eighteen? There's no fun in tha'!"

"Speak for yourself," Fenrir muttered.

"Alright," Scabior said and held up his palms. "Go ahead and molest a Hogwarts-kid, if tha' tickles your fancy."

"If I were you, _Scabior_, I'd better watch it," Fenrir growled. Then he snorted. "And what about you then? And that scarf your struttin' around with?"

"Yeah," Scabior challenged. "Wha' about it?"

"Don't you think that's a bit weird?" Fenrir said smugly. "You wearin' a _girl's_ scarf?" Then he laughed. "But what do I know? Perhaps you wish you were one?"

The other started to laugh, too, and Scabior shook his head. "Yeah, wha' _do_ you know, Greyback?"

"Wouldn't surprise me, though," Fenrir continued, ignoring Scabior's sarcastic remark. "I mean, considerin' what you wearin'."

"Look who's talkin', wolfman," Scabior sneered.

"Why, you little—"

"Stop it!" Frank growled. "I'm sick of you two goin' on like tha'! Where 'ere to make money! Not tear each other apart!"

"Fine," Fenrir growled and rose. "I'm not takin' the first watch."

Scabior clenched his jaw and turned his eyes towards the fire. He hated this. How did he end up doing this with a bunch of idiots? Oh, yeah, that's right… the money, the benefits of being an ally to the Dark Lord, the freedom… he sighed at the thought of it; freedom. What was that, really? He had been robbed from it for years, spending some of his precious youth in Azkaban, and now when he was out and about, and had been for about a year, he still had no idea what it truly was. It was only two years after he'd graduated from Hogwarts that he was mixed into some no good business, and his judgement was forever altered. A couple of years later, he was sentenced to ten years in Azkaban for accidentally killing a Muggle after a drunken escapade in London. And, of course, his sentence was extended because he was a bit snide towards the judge, and that was a big mistake. And now he was sitting there, by the fire in the woods a cold November night, waiting for the right opportunity to turn his life around. Harry Potter was his chance. The reward for catching him and his two friends were enough for him to get away. But the wait! Oh, the wait was excruciating! And not only that, but that bloody perfume hunted him wherever they went. Even though he had a rule that no one would take a snatch for himself, he couldn't help but to long for when he could have that girl for himself. And he would, in time. All in good time.

**.:{*}:.**

Hermione was so angry at herself when she came back to the tent, that she stormed in and threw the cloak into the bag, and growled as she did, so loudly, it woke Harry.

"Hermione?" he yawned. "What're you doing?"

"Nothing," Hermione muttered.

"Is it my turn?" Harry said and sat up, reaching for his glasses.

"No, not yet," Hermione said. "You go ahead and sleep a bit longer."

"No, it's alright," Harry said. "I'm already awake now, anyway."

Hermione sighed and sat down by the table. Then she saw the bottle of perfume, and clenched her jaw. She grabbed the bottle and stormed out of the tent, hearing how Harry asked for her and what she was doing. But she didn't care. She walked a couple of steps before she threw away the bottle and roared. She was so angry, and not only at herself anymore, but at Ron, too. She was angry at Ron for leaving her so vulnerable and stupid! She put herself through enormous danger tonight, and that only because she was stupid enough to think that Ron would actually come back.

"Hermione?" Harry gasped as he came running out from the tent. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Hermione barked and turned to him. "Everything's fine, Harry!"

Harry sighed and walked up to her and put one hand on her shoulder. "I know it's been hard," he said. "Not least for you. But we have to keep on going. We have to stay positive and believe that this will pay off! Ron made his choice."

Hermione sighed deeply and sat down on the ground. Harry sat down next to her. "I never imagined it would be like this, Harry. It's supposed to be us three, and now when one of us is gone, I feel… empty. And useless. And no offence, Harry, but you know that what Ron and I had was special."

"I know," Harry sighed and put his arm around her. "I know."

"You know, I was so sure Ron would return, I even started to convince myself that the wards weren't a good idea," Hermione said. "I mean, if Ron really intended to come back, how would he find us?" Then she snorted. "But you know as well as I that without the wards, we wouldn't be here."

"You still think about that night?" Harry asked. "When the Snatchers came?"

"How can I not?" she sighed. She didn't want to tell him she'd seen them tonight, too. "He could smell it, Harry. He could smell my perfume. And I didn't even have that much on me! Only a drop! But he could smell it, despite the wards! What if they're chasing us because of it?"

"Well, maybe he's a werewolf?" Harry said and shrugged. "Didn't you say that one of them was Greyback?"

Hermione shrugged. She had thought she'd seen Greyback that night, but she had only concentrated on the other one, Scabior, really. But now when she had heard him tonight, she was sure he was there then, too. "I don't know."

"What if he was?" Harry asked. "Then maybe he's bitten the rest of the lot. Maybe that's why that Snatcher could smell you?"

"Wouldn't that be worse?" Hermione asked, annoyed by the way Harry tried to cheer her up, and annoyed by the fact that the dark, sinister man could be a werewolf. "Wouldn't it be worse to be chased by a pack of werewolves?"

"Well, I—" Harry sighed. "I just meant that maybe it wasn't because of you. Maybe he would have smelt you anyway."

"Yes, Harry," Hermione muttered, "that's very reassuring."

"Sorry," Harry mumbled. "I just wanted to cheer you up."

"I know," Hermione sighed. "I'll go and try to sleep now, if you don't mind."

"Do that," Harry said.

Hermione rose and walked into the tent without looking back at Harry. She was too… well, too upset. About everything. She was mostly mad at Ron, but she was also so mad at herself for being so transfixed by that bloody Snatcher! Of course he was a werewolf! What else could he be if he hung around with someone like Greyback? Somehow, that disappointed her. And that angered her, too. Why would she care about a man like him? He was just a bloody Snatcher! A dark, dangerous… tantalizing, handsome… _get a grip, Hermione!_ She thought to herself. This trip did nothing good for her mind. She had never felt more like a confused teenager than at this very moment.


	3. Mercy

**A/N:** Here's chapter two. Haven't got so much to say about it, really. I hope you'll all like it!

Enjoy!

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><p><em><strong>The Perfume<strong>_

**Chapter Two**  
><em>Mercy<em>

He fiddled with the scarf as he tried to get some sleep. The scent was wearing off, but he didn't care. He had grown attached to it. He didn't like the colour nor the way it mixed with the pattern, but it didn't matter, because it had been hers, whoever she was. He knew he was mad for creating a person inside his head, a person who could take away all of his problems, all of his anger and sadness and frustration with a single touch, and all based upon a perfume he'd felt in the forest. He had been searching everywhere. On every new place they went, he searched for her. It was now Christmas Eve, and he couldn't help but to feel worried that this woman might miss her warm scarf.

Frank went into the camping sight, carrying the biggest of smiles, and a knocked out girl. "Happy Christmas, Scab!" He threw the girl onto the ground, exhausted and without the slightest care, and stood smiling towards Scabior, who sat up and raised his brows.

"Are you mad?" he asked. "Who's tha'?"

"Jus' some Muggle I found at the local pub after havin' a pint," Frank said and shrugged. "Felt a bit sorry for what I did to you last week, so I thought this was a good way to repay it."

Scabior looked at the man with questioning eyes. "Wait, wait, wait… so, you went to a local pub, had a pint, found a girl, somehow lured 'er away, knocked 'er out and took 'er 'ere?"

Frank shrugged and nodded. "It was Greyback's idea."

Scabior clenched his jaw. He was surrounded by idiots. "I repeat; are you mad? How could you stroll into a Muggle pub, and more importantly, how could you jus' nick tha' girl without consideration?"

"Oh, come on!" Frank cried. "It's just a bleedin' Muggle! Thought you'd be thankful."

"Thankful for wha'?"

Frank was getting a bit frustrated, Scabior knew that. "Well, Greyback said tha' you needed someone to… play wiv!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Scabior sighed. "Who the bloody 'ell do you think I am? Take 'er back!"

"I can'!" Frank said. "Greyback would kill me!"

"I don' bloody care," Scabior said. "We should do wha' we're 'ere for, not gettin' our 'ands dirty with somethin' else."

"Why are you yellin' at me?" Frank cried.

"It's your fault, innit?" Scabior barked. "Take 'er back!"

"What's goin' on here?" Fenrir Greyback entered the camping sight.

Frank straightened himself. "I—I did as you told me. I got a girl for Scab."

"For Scabior?" Fenrir sounded smug. "No, that was for me, Frank." Then he smirked and looked down on the unconscious girl. "Good job."

"Wha's goin' on 'ere?" Scabior growled and stood up.

"Well, what's goin' on is that we don't care what you say," Fenrir said. "Your rules are stupid, and we will take some liberties."

"Some?" Scabior growled. "You've nicked a Muggle girl from a bloody pub jus' like tha'! How are you goin' to cover _that_ up?"

"Who cares?" Fenrir growled back. When no one answered back, he picked up the young woman and threw her over his shoulder and walked away, into the forest.

"Wanker," Scabior muttered under his breath.

Frank stood and looked down on his feet. "I am sorry, you know."

"Yeah." Scabior sighed and sat down. The previous week, Frank had accidentally stunned Scabior when chasing a blood-traitor, and because of it, the blood-traitor got away and cost them five Galleons. Not a large sum for such a number, but it was also a race between themselves; the one catching the mudblood or the blood-traitor was given the biggest cut of the reward, and Scabior was the fastest of the lot. But that did not bother him at this moment. No, he was more worried about what Fenrir was to do with that young girl, and whether or not he would even bother to dispose of the body when he was done. But he sighed, sorry for the poor girl's fate, but was aware of that it wasn't the first time during this job. "Where're the others?"

"Still down at the pub," Frank said and sat down.

"Great," Scabior muttered and lay down again, now knowing that he wouldn't get any sleep at all.

**.:{*}:.**

Hermione couldn't believe it. Ron had returned. At not only that, but he had returned with the locket destroyed. She didn't know what to say, what to do. She didn't know if she should even forgive him for leaving her in the first place. She wrapped the blanket closer around herself. It was cold. She was still a bit shaken from Christmas Eve, and she tried to divert her thoughts, but every time she did, she thought about that damn Snatcher.

"Hermione?"

She winced as Ron came up from behind her. "You scared me."

"Sorry." He sat down next to her. "Look, Hermione… I'm sorry I—"

"Don't," Hermione sighed. "Just… don't."

Ron nodded. "I just wanted you to know that… that I've missed you."

"We've missed you, too," Hermione muttered.

"No," Ron sighed. "I missed _you_. I mean, I've missed Harry too, of course, but… well, I really missed you, Hermione." He grabbed her hand and squeezed a little.

Hermione swallowed. She didn't know what to say. Had she missed him? Of course she had. She would be a fool if she hadn't.

"Oh, and another thing," he said as he reached for something in his pocket. "I understand that you were mad at me, but I found this a couple of weeks ago in some forest, somewhere, and," he picked up the bottle of perfume Hermione had thrown away, and she gasped in horror, "even though I was a bit hurt that you threw it away, I understand it, and I'm actually glad you did it, because when I found it, I knew I was on the right path. And I just thought, that now when I'm back, then… maybe you wanted this back?" He reached to give it to her, and she didn't know whether or not to take it. She could no longer see it, or even smell it, without being reminded of the Snatcher. But she reached out and grabbed it with an iffy smile.

"Thank you," she said.

"No problem." Ron was pleased with himself, Hermione could tell. He looked at her, in anticipation, and she looked at him with questioning eyes. He shrugged. "Aren't you… you know, going to put some of it on you?"

Hermione clenched her jaw. He wanted her to wear the perfume. She didn't want to. But his eyes were pleading, and she couldn't deny him that simple pleasure. She sighed and removed the lid and poured a drop on her wrist before she closed the bottle up and put on and rubbed her wrists together and rubbed some on her neck. This time, it almost felt as if the liquid was burning her skin, whispering to her in the Snatcher's voice, that third time's the charm, and that he would get her. But she pushed those thoughts away and smiled at Ron.

"It really does smell great," he smiled. "Oh, and I just wondered… you know, between you and Harry… did you two ever… you know?"

"No." Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry was like a brother to her. When would Ron get that?

"Oh, okay," Ron said. "Didn't think so, either. To be honest, I wasn't worried one bit."

_Right_, Hermione thought. Then she sighed and looked at Ron. "It's your watch now. I'll go and have some sleep, if you don't mind."

"Right," Ron said and nodded. "Of course."

She rose, handed the blanket over to Ron, and went into the tent, without looking back. Everything was so confusing. But she lay down on her bed and succeeded to get some sleep before the morning arose. She spent that day as far away from Harry and Ron as possible. She needed time to think. Not only about what to do about Ron, but she also needed to figure out how to find the next Horcrux. She needed something else to concentrate her mind on for a while. She spent the whole day reading Dumbledore's biography, and the more she read, and the more places that strange, triangular mark popped up, the more she started to understand that it might be of importance. She tried to remember all of the places she'd seen it on; in _Beetle the Bard_, in Godric's Hollow, and… oh, it hung around Xenophilius Lovegood's neck at Bill and Fleur's wedding! Perhaps, if they could—

"_Reducio_!"

Hermione knitted her brows and rose. "What's going on in there?"

"_Nothing_!" the two boys answered.

She shook her head and went inside the tent. Both of the boys stood looking rather guilty, but she didn't bother. "We need to talk."

Ron looked a bit bothered, but then he nodded in agreement. "Yeah, alright."

Hermione took a deep breath and went past them. "I want to go and see Xenophilius Lovegood."

**.:{*}:.**

"Scabior!" Fenrir growled. "What are we waiting for?"

"Be quiet!" Scabior growled back. There had been a sound. He was sure he'd heard a sound. Footsteps and a branch breaking, but perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. It had been playing tricks on him for a while now. He listened for her everywhere. The tiniest little noise, and he would stop and listen. Perhaps it was for the best it he just… stopped. Stopped looking for her, because he would never find her. He had her scarf, and perhaps that was as close as he would ever get.

"C'mon, Scab!" Frank said. "It was nothin'!"

Scabior sighed. "Fine." He straightened his back and turned to the others. "Let's continue."

_Voldemort._

Scabior looked up to listen. Then he smirked widely and looked at his men. Nothing was better than a good, old chase to clear one's mind. "Gentlemen, someone calls for us."

The others laughed, too, and they all Disapparated and appeared on the calling-place within a second. It was that lunatic Lovegood's house.

"Stop!" the man shouted outside his door. "I've got him!"

None of the Snatchers cared. They trashed his house in the search for the victims, but those sneaky rats Disapparated before Scabior could get his hands on them. But he would not let them go. The Snatchers followed.

**.:{*}:.**

"That treacherous little bleeder!" Ron growled just as they had landed on a hard forest floor. "Is there no one we can trust?"

"They kidnapped her because they supported me," Harry sighed. "He was just desperate."

Ron sighed frustrated and gritted his teeth. "I'll do the enchantments."

Hermione brushed herself off as she watched Harry and Ron. Her heart raced, and all she could think of was what if those Snatchers were the same she had encountered in the forest? Hopefully, they would have set up the enchantments before the Snatchers appeared again. That was when Ron gasped. Hermione hadn't even had the time to react before horror struck her.

"Hello beautiful." It was him. The Snatcher from the woods._ Scabior_. He eyed her with his piercing, dark, steel-grey eyes, and smirked. He was wearing her scarf. He played with it with his finger, and the corner of his lip curled into a vicious smirk. Hermione gasped and stumbled backwards before she realised they were surrounded, and she started to run. The panic was pounding in her chest, and she pushed her legs the hardest she could manage.

"Well, don' hang about!" she heard him call. "Snatch 'em!"

And the chase was on. Harry, Ron and Hermione ran the fastest they could, followed by a bunch of Snatchers. Spells were flying everywhere, and Hermione tried to keep away from them at the same time she tried to keep from falling on tree-roots and such. Tears of fear were burning in her eyes, and as she heard Ron fall, her heart sank. But she kept on running. Harry was ahead of her, chased by two Snatchers. Hermione didn't dare to turn to look who was chasing her, because she had a feeling she already knew. Perhaps he didn't know she was the one he'd sniffed, but she couldn't take any risks. Besides, that man scared her, more than she wanted to admit, really. She pushed her legs harder. Finally, she had run past Harry, and was now in the front. But just as she thought that they had stopped chasing them, two more came walking in front of her. She stopped and turned. Harry was closing in on her, and she had to think fast. It didn't matter whether or not they caught her or Ron, but if they caught Harry, all they had been fighting for, would be lost. She quickly raised her want and threw a jinx at him as he came running towards her, and made him fall. She hurried to him and took his glasses off before the Snatchers had come close enough for them to notice. His face had started to puff up, and he was now unrecognisable. But she didn't have much time to think before one of the Snatchers grabbed her and took her wand.

"Don't touch her!" Ron growled as he was brought to the centre by another Snatcher. But Ron received a hard punch in the stomach by Fenrir Greyback to silence him.

"Leave him!" Hermione shouted.

"Your boyfriend will get much worse than that," the Snatcher, Scabior, said as he approached them, "if he doesn' learn to behave 'imself." He walked up to Harry who had been picked up by Greyback. "Wha' happened to you, ugly?" Fenrir looked at him, and he gave the werewolf a bored look. "No, not you." He then looked at Harry. "Wha's your name?"

"Dudley," Harry said quickly. "Vernon Dudley."

"Check it." Then he turned towards Hermione.

She tried to twist herself out of the Snatchers grip, but it was too tight. _He doesn't know who I am_, she thought to herself. _He doesn't know who I am. He doesn't know who I am. He doesn't_—

"And you, my lovely," the Snatcher, Scabior, said as he walked closer to her.

Hermione felt how the panic rose even more as he came face to face with her.

"What do they call you?" he asked and looked at her.

His breath smelled of firewhiskey and cigarette smoke, mixed with the scent of damp forest, smoke and musk from his clothes, and she swallowed hard. She knew she had to think fast. She couldn't tell him her real name, she knew that. His piercing eyes were looking right through her, and she was afraid that he might discover her lie the second she told it. His whole posture made her fear him, so typical a dark wizard. She cursed herself for being so easily frightened. She gathered her strength and courage before she said, softly and calmly, "Penelope Clearwater, half-blood."

He reached to touch her hair, and she gasped lightly. She did not like to have this man this close, even though a part of her told her it was thrilling. He leaned closer to her, so close she could press her cheek against his stubby one if she wanted to. He took a deep sniff of her, and she held her breath. He would recognise her. She knew he would. This was the end, third time's the charm, and all because of that bloody perfume!

**.:{*}:.**

"And you, my lovely," he said as he approached the girl. There was something about her, something in her eyes that told him that this wasn't the first time they met. A most thrilling feeling of satisfaction spread through his body. He knew that this was it. He could feel it. It was her. He knew his search would pay off one day, and this was the day. The girl was beautiful; with dark-blonde, close to brown hair, chocolate eyes, milky skin and that scent, she was much pleasing to the eye. It wasn't what he had imagined, it was even better. The young witch looked so fragile, so vulnerable. He walked to stand in front of her. "What do they call you?"

She seemed to wonder before she spoke, "Penelope Clearwater, half-blood." A sweet, singing voice, indeed.

He couldn't control himself. He reached to touch her curly hair. It was so soft, to light. He bent forwards to smell her; blooming elder and apples. It was her. An electrical shock of desire shot through his body, and he wanted her.

"There's no Vernon Dudley on 'ere," Frank said.

Scabior clenched his jaw in vexation and turned to Frank. "Well then, go and find out why it's not there. I'm busy."

"Fine," Frank muttered.

Scabior turned back to the girl, Penelope. If that was her real name. He grabbed her arm and looked at the Snatcher holding her. "Get the other two to the Ministry. I'll deal with this one."

"But—"

"I said go!" Scabior growled, and the others silenced and took the other two, though both of the boys protested loudly, before they Disapparated, leaving Scabior and his catch in the woods alone. He looked at her. She looked so scared, so helpless. He smirked. "Well, love," he said and pulled her closer. She fought him some, but seemed to understand it was useless. He leaned down to smell her once more. "You're mine now."

She gasped and tried to push him away, but he only laughed. Such a weak little girl. It amused him to see her fight him like that. Sure, she seemed to be a bit younger than he'd expected, and it wasn't usually what he was aroused by, but this… oh, this was different.

"Don' be like tha', love," he smirked.

"You'll never have me," she growled and threw a well-aimed knee towards his crotch, and he groaned in pain as he fell to the ground. She ran.

"You little _bitch_!" he barked after her. "I'll get you!" He was enraged. How dared she? Well, at least now he knew he could hurt her with a good conscience. It would just be pay-back. And she didn't have a wand. He threw a catch-spell at her, and it hit her, and she fell to the ground. After a minute or two and with some struggle, he managed to stand up again and straighten his back before he walked towards the crying girl. "You thought you could escape tha' easily? I'm disappointed." He crouched beside her and looked at her. She was struggling against the chains around her body, and her brown eyes were filled with tears. But behind those tears there was an admirable determination. This must be a Gryffindor. "Don' worry, love, I won' hurt ya." Lie. Oh, he would love to hurt this fragile little creature, make her pay for almost crushing his gems.

"Let me go!" she cried.

"Now, why would I do tha'?" Scabior inspected his dirty nails as he raised his eyebrows nonchalantly. "Where's the fun in catching things when you 'ave to let 'em go right when you've gotten them where you want?" Then he tapped once with his wand on the chains, and they disappeared. Then he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. Her sweet fragrance filled his nostrils and almost made him dizzy. Now when he had her, there was only one more thing he needed to be free. "Now," he said putting her body close to his, "I want you to tell me if you know where Harry Potter and his friends are."

"I don't know him," she said.

He could sense she was lying. She was too… too determined. "Look, love, if you tell me where they are, I'll let you go. I promise." Lie. "I won' touch a single hair on you head, I swear." Well, perhaps he would let her go for now. After all, he loved a good chase.

"I have learnt not to trust a Death Eater," the girl spat.

His patience was running thin. "Lovely, I'm offerin' you a way out, alright? It's only fair tha' you help me if I help you, innit?"

She clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes.

"Suit yourself," he muttered and pinned her up against a tree, and she whimpered. The smell of her filled him once more, and he inhaled it, letting it consume him completely. He smirked and locked her both wrists in his one hand above her head and grabbed her chin with his other. He caressed her lips as he let the image of them sink in, deep into his memory. "You see, love, I could be a good man. I could help you. But I could also be a very, very bad man." He leaned in closer to her, and was only inches away from her lips with his own. "A very bad man." He leaned to kiss her, but she turned her head and gasped, "wait!"

He looked at her. "Changed your mind, 'ave you?" There was a flash of submission in her eyes, and he knew he'd won this one. But at the same time, a shot of guilt ran through him; what was he really doing to her? But he didn't know any other way.

"Wales," she breathed. "They are going to Wales." Tears rolled down her cheek, and he smirked.

"Wales, eh?"

"We met them, only a few days ago, and they said they were going to Wales, to a friend," she whispered. "Please, don't hurt me! I've told you all I know!"

_So easily manipulated_, he thought and smirked as leaned down to kiss her neck. Her warm, soft skin against his lips felt so innocent, so untouched, and he wanted her even more. But he would let her go. He couldn't do this. He couldn't hurt such a lovely and innocent creature. He just couldn't. She was the one to take away all of his problems, all of his anger and sadness and frustration, and all in one touch. He couldn't hurt her. No, Penelope Clearwater, or whatever her name was, would go free. For now. He would have her again. Yes, he enjoyed a good chase.

**.:{*}:.**

Hermione held her breath. The Snatcher had her pinned. She could not move. Her hands were above her head, and this dark, sinister man was kissing her neck. The feel of his lips on her skin made her shiver, not only because she had never been touched like that before, but also because she couldn't help but to like it. She cursed herself for feeling that way, but she did. His long, wild, dark hair tickled her face, and his one hand holding both of her wrists, had such a strong grip, she was sure it would leave bruises. But there was another, tingling feeling, in her body; he believed her. He actually fell for her lie! Or did he? If he did, would he honour his promise and let her go?

"Alright, love," he said and straightened. His grey eyes were full of smug and superiority. "I'm an honourable man. I'll let you go. For now. But trust me, I'll find you again, an' you'll be mine." He let go of her and took a step back, and she breathed heavily. She had no idea what to think or what to do. She looked at him, and he looked at her, and that smirk spread across his face again. "Well, go." Then he laughed and took a step closer again. "Or, perhaps you don' want me to—"

"I'll go," she hurried to say. "I'll go."

The smirk disappeared from his lips and he clenched his jaw. He took a step back again and eyes her. "Fine. Be more careful next time. You never know who's lurkin' behind the bushes."

"I'll remember that," she whispered and stumbled away from the tree. She didn't dare to turn her back to the Snatcher and she didn't take her eyes off him as she walked backwards away from him. He kept his eyes on her as well, and watched as she walked further away. She was ready to make a run for it, if he suddenly changed his mind and wanted to turn this into a twisted game. But he only smiled grimly right before he Disapparated, and Hermione gasped. She was all alone. As much as she feared and resented the man, she didn't want to be left alone. She had no wand, and Harry and Ron were gone. That was when the tears came. They rolled down her cheek like a September rain, and she fell to the ground, sobbing violently. Oh how she wished she could help Harry and Ron somehow, but without a wand, it was practically impossible. She was all alone.


	4. Favour

**A/N:** I am _so_ sorry for the delay! I have been woking the whole summer and all my inspiration has been drained from me. Anyway, I've got new energy and inspiration now, and hopefully I can now be a little bit faster in my writing. Anyways, here's chapter three! Please, review :)

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Perfume<strong>_

**Chapter Three**  
><em>Favour<em>

Scabior muttered as he wrapped his leather coat tighter around him. It was quite chilly outside. He had Apparated into an alley in Camden Town, London, where they had their headquarters. The streets were filled with young Muggles, all looking like they were on their way to a Halloween-party. Well, he knew he shouldn't complain. He looked probably just like they did, considering that he had bought his Muggle clothes in this area. As he started walking through the endless maze of market stalls, shops and old buildings he started to reflect upon the day's events. He'd found her. He actually found her. But why did he let her go? How could he have let her go, now when he had found her? It didn't make any sense, and he was actually mad at himself for doing it. But she was without a wand, and wouldn't be able to Disapparate, or hide magically. So, if he gave her a day's head start, he could go after her with a good conscience. He made right turn past a gang of young Muggles. They all greeted him like an old friend, or even like a star of some sort, when he went past them. He didn't even know them. But they were always standing at that same corner, talking, drinking, smoking something funny-smelling.

"Oi, Scab!" one of them said. "Everythin' alright?"

Scabior nodded, but didn't say anything. By never saying a word to them, just his name, and just looking superior, he became superior to them, and he liked it that way. He'd been too involved with Muggles in his past and wouldn't do that same mistake again. As he entered the headquarters, he heard laughter and cheering. He hurried up the narrow stairs to see what all the fuzz was about, and when he came up the stairs, he was greeted by big smiles.

"There you are!" Frank said. "We've been waitin' for ya! Where's the girl?"

"Wha's goin' on?" Scabior asked. "Wha' girl?"

"The flamin' _girl_!" Frank said.

"Oh, she was only 'alf-blood anyway," Scabior said and shrugged his shoulders. "I let 'er go. Oh, an' she told me where Potter is. Wales." He didn't want to tell them that he'd return for her. All the others fell silent and started at him. "Wha'?"

"'Ow _stupid_ could you get?" Frank shouted.

"I beg your pardon?" Scabior growled.

"Wales, eh? Well, guess wha'?" Frank continued. "Our dear little friend wiv tha' puffy boat, yeah? 'E's freakin' Harry Potter! An' guess wha' else? Tha' ginger friend of 'is, tha's Weasley! So, I guess you could figure out yourself who's tha' pretty little girl of yours was?"

Scabior stood dumbfounded. Of course. Of course she was lying. She had been fooling him all along. He felt ashamed. Of course they couldn't turn in the Golden Trio without the Mudblood. And he had let her slip between his fingers. "I didn' know…"

"I don' bloody care!" Frank shouted. "Greyback's gonna kill us! He's gone to the Manor already, tellin' 'em tha' we've got Potter!"

"Well, tha' was a stupid thing to do, innit?" Scabior bellowed. "We could 'ave stuck a bargain with the Dark Lord! We could 'ave got more money!"

"Yeah, like you would 'ave put Potter up for a bargain wiv the Dark Lord?" Frank asked. "No, Potter is the sort of fella you _give_ to the Dark Lord."

Scabior clenched his jaw. "Well, turn 'im over, then. They don' need the Mudblood. They don' even need the ginger. The Dark Lord just wants Potter."

"Yeah, but Lestrange wants all of 'em," Frank said.

"Well, tha' 'er loss, an'—"

Fenrir Greyback suddenly Apparated into the room. When he saw Scabior, he immediately asked for the girl.

"She's not 'ere," Frank muttered.

"What?" Fenrir growled.

"She tricked me," Scabior said.

"And you were stupid enough to believe her?"

"Wha' was I supposed to do, then, eh?" Scabior growled. "She's a pretty good liar!"

"You were supposed to bring her here!"

"Well, I didn't!"

Fenrir glared at him, his wolf-like eyes thirsting for blood. "Not taking any of them for ourselves, didn't you say that? I should kill you. You're good for nothing!"

"I'm the best Snatcher there is," Scabior spat and narrowed his eyes.

"You may be the best, but I am so sick of your attitude I could rip your head clean off," Fenrir growled. "Now, here me, lad; if you're not back with the Mudblood by midnight, I will hunt you down and kill you. You got that?"

"Keep your Alan's on, good friend," Scabior said. "I'll be back with 'er, before midnight." Before anyone could say anything else, he stormed out of the building and out on the street again. The Muggle gang greeted him, but he wanted nothing but to kill them all at this very moment. How could he have been so stupid as to believe her? Didn't matter now. He would go back, and he would find her and bring her back. He had to. No man would keep any of the Golden Trio for himself. Not even him. And if he didn't find her, Merlin forbid, he was a dead man. No matter how much he hated Fenrir Greyback, he had to admit that the man, or rather the creature, was a frightening thing, and he would not be glad for having him chewing on his back. He walked into the same alley he had Apparated in and Disapparated to the same place where he had left the Mudblood. She was not there. But he hadn't exactly expected her to wait for him. However, he knew she wasn't far away. He growled as he walked in the same direction as she had, before he had left her.

**.:{*}:.**

She ran. Her heart was pounding loudly in her chest, and her legs burned, but she didn't care. She ran. Luckily, they hadn't taken her bag, and she had put the Invisibility Cloak on, and felt a bit safer because of it, but it didn't really matter. Everything was lost. Harry was gone. Ron was gone. They had probably been discovered by now, and been brought to Voldemort. But she knew she had to keep on going. She was the only one who could save them now. Not that she knew exactly how, but she knew she had to try. But at this very moment, she had to stop. She had been running ever since the Snatcher let her go, and now she needed to rest for a moment. She leaned towards a tree and breathed heavily. Her chest hurt, her legs hurt, her head hurt. Everything hurt. She just needed to sit down for a bit. As she slid down on the ground, still with the cloak on, the tears came again. She couldn't really grasp that she was on her own, and that she had to try to make it on her own, too. She didn't want to believe it. She wished she could just fall asleep, and then wake up in the tent by Harry or Ron waking her, saying good morning. But she knew this wasn't a nightmare. This was real. She was alone. She sighed deeply. She had no idea what time it was, and it could be ten in the evening as well as four in the morning. She had absolutely no idea. The only thing she knew was that it had become dark soon after she had started to run, and that she now was so tired, she could fall asleep right there and then, even though she knew she had to keep on going. That was when she heard heavy and determent steps. She froze on spot and listened. Someone was coming closer. She heard a voice mutter; a male voice.

"_Bloody Mudblood_," she heard the voice mutter, and she immediately knew who it was. "_'I'll bring 'er back before midnight'. How stupid am I really?_"

Hermione pressed herself closer to the tree, making sure there was no branches and leaves beneath her that could give her away. The Snatcher, Scabior, came into sight, and he looked both furious and desperate. He was alone.

"Useless," he muttered to himself. "Useless! We don' even need 'er! Tha' wench could well find 'er 'erself!"

Hermione closed her eyes. She didn't want to see what would happen, what he would do. If he found her, she wouldn't have a chance. She didn't have a wand, and she could never overpower him physically. But as she heard how he went past her, she sighed in relief and relaxed. As she did, she felt how she drifted off, and finally fell asleep.

She woke up some time later. The dawn was approaching, and she stretched and yawned. She was freezing, so she stood up and started walking again. She had to come to a village soon. Otherwise, she didn't know how she would survive. She walked in a rapid pace, trying to get the temperature up. She was hungry, and thirsty. She was feeling empty. Literally. Soon enough, she wouldn't have the energy to continue. But she kept on walking. Perhaps she would bump into some hikers, or at least a river or a stream. That was when she found him, unconscious, on the ground; the Snatcher. She halter, afraid that he might wake up and catch her. But he lay perfectly still on the ground, face down. His wand lay several feet from him, and Hermione hurried to take it. She clutch to it as if she tried to clue her hand onto it, and stared at him. One minute; he did not move. Two minutes; still nothing. She looked around. There was no one there. She looked at him again. He was breathing, so he wasn't dead, but she doubted he would take a nap like that. She then looked at the wand in her hand; ten inches, pine and probably contained a dragon heartstring. It was a good wand. She could feel it fit well in her hand. She clenched her jaw and then finally took a step away. She wanted to keep moving. The Snatcher, Scabior, would probably die in the cold, and the wand would be hers, and he needed a wand. But she had not yet taken more than twenty steps until she hesitated. Could she really leave him like that? Could she really leave him to die? She sighed deeply. She didn't have the heart to do it, no matter who he was. She wouldn't even be able to leave Bellatrix Lestrange to such an end. Well… she probably could. Or could she? No matter, she raised the pine wand and placed the normal protective charms around the area. She still had her bag and the tent. She put the tent up and used _Wingardium Leviosa_ to move him from the ground to the bed Harry used to sleep in. There was a strange familiarity in this that she didn't want to feel; the setting-up of the tent, the protective charms, the sparkling fire… but she had to remember that a Snatcher was lying inside the tent. She was sure he had wounds of some sort, but she did not dare to go anywhere near him. It wasn't until nightfall she decided that it was for the best. She had the wand, anyway.

**.:{*}:.**

_He killed me_, he thought. _I'm dead. Gone. Avada Kedavred. _He slowly opened his eyes, and found himself looking upon a strange fabric. He was in a tent, unexpectedly healthy and fit. He was healing. There were no broken bones, no fatal ache. He must be dead! He sat up and looked around; a tray with a smoking teapot and a cup stood beside him on a nightstand, and he raised his brow. Where was he? Heaven? Another thing caught his eye; a blue flame inside a jar stood next to him, radiating heat and comfort. He tried to sit up, when the dreaded pain struck him. He was still healing, not fully fixed. He groaned as he removed the blanket that was covering him and saw that a bandage was placed around his chest. Someone had saved him. He looked around to get a glimpse of his saviour, but there was no one to be seen. He then heard movement from somewhere else and he reached for his wand, but he could not find it. Panic struck him as he realised that he was totally unarmed, and that whoever was coming towards him – friend or foe – could easily overpower him. He wasn't exactly the most popular amongst people. But as a woman came into view, a woman with dark-blonde, close to brown hair, chocolate eyes and milky white skin, his heart took a leap. If it was out of joy or fear, he did not know, because she was holding his wand, aiming it at him. Was he to die by the hands of a Mudblood girl in Hogwarts-age? With his own wand, no less?

"Don't move," she ordered him, voice trembling. "I—I'm not afraid to jinx you if I have to."

Scabior knitted his eyebrows. "_Jinx_ me?" Then his face softened. "Well, if tha's the only 'arm you'll do me, I reckon I'll be alrigh'." He tried to sit up again, but the pain in his chest stabbed, and he groaned and lay down.

"I can curse you, too, if you'd like that better," she said through gritted teeth, and then she sighed. "You'd better rest. You were badly injured. Barely alive." She advanced towards him, still pointing Scabior's own wand at him. "Drink your tea. I've mixed some Cardraq-root in it. Helps for the healing."

He looked at her, suspiciously. Why would she help him? What had he ever done to her to deserve her aid? Nothing as far as he knew. He reckoned it was quite the opposite. He forced himself into a somehow sitting position and reached for the tea, still with his eyes dead set upon her. He drank, and it tasted wonderfully. Perhaps it was because he was really thirsty, or perhaps it was because the warmth soothed his healing, but aching body. He then tilted his head a bit. "You lied to me. In the forest. _Hermione Granger_."

"And you can't see why?" she asked as she sat down in an armchair with the wand still pointing at him.

He shrugged. "Never said tha." He drank another mouthful of the tea before putting it back on the nightstand.

"Where are they?" Her voice was hard and stern.

"Who?"

"Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley," she snarled. "Where have you taken them?"

"I 'aven' taken 'em anywhere," Scabior said with ease. Then he tightened his jaw, "because I 'ad to go out lookin' for you, the person I 'ad in my grasp, but was merciful enough to let go, but as you may 'ave noticed, I didn' catch you."

"I am aware of that," she said dryly. "Where are they?" She took a firmer grip around his pine wand, and felt his neck-hair stand. There was something about this girl; she was too fearless, too… too determined. She had gotten away. She had survived. Is that not enough?

"I don' know," he answered, truthfully. He didn't know. Sure, he reckoned they'd be at the Malfoys at the very moment, but he couldn't be entirely sure. They could have been moved.

"What do you _mean_ you don't know?" she spat and aimed the wand more determinedly towards him.

"I _mean_ I don' know where they are!" he said, feeling how his ribs hurt.

She looked bewildered. "But you should know! It was your gang, wasn't it?"

"Greyback's the leader," Scabior said, feeling how acidly the name had come off his tongue. "Not sure why, though. 'E's stupid enough to be a troll. In fact, I think he partly is." He snorted. "'E's a… were-troll, not a werewolf." Then he sighed. "Anyway, I bet your friends are already dead. I'd watch my back if I were you."

She clenched her jaw and swallowed. "Why?" It was more of a… frightened whisper than the demand she obviously wanted it to be.

"Isn't tha' obvious?" he asked and looked at her. "Potter might be enough for the Dark Lork, but you… oh," he smirked, "tha' Lestrange bitch won' rest until she's got all of you."

Something changed in the young witch's eyes. They flickered despairingly and she lowered the wand slowly. It was as if reality had smitten her with all its force and left her to her fate. A shot of pity ran through Scabior as he saw the fear and devastation in her eyes. She suddenly looked away and stood up. "Finish your tea. The faster you heal, the quicker I can save my friends." She then turned to walk away.

"Why bother?" Scabior asked as she was about to leave the room. She halted, but did not turn. "You're still 'ere. Be 'appy 'bout tha'. Why put your freedom in danger to save a couple of idiots?"

She turned her head to her shoulder. "Because those two _idiots_ are all I've got left." She then left, and Scabior sighed heavily before he took the tea-cup in his hand and drank another mouthful.

The days came and went by, and Scabior didn't see the young witch again. She was there, he knew she was there. He heard her move in the tent, and every morning when he woke up, there was a hot cup of tea waiting for him on the nightstand. Sometimes, there was a fried egg on the side, or some mushroom-soup. But she never entered the room while he was awake. He wasn't yet fit to walk around, but he was healing.

On the third morning, he woke up and found the young witch in the armchair, pointing the wand towards him.

"Could you please point tha' somewhere else?" he muttered and rubbed his eyes. The tea stood on the nightstand, as usual.

"I have some questions," she said.

"Go on then," he said and took a sip from the tea.

"What orders did you have if you found us?"

He looked at her. She was holding on to the wand as if her life depended on it. He snorted. "Wha' do you think?"

"I don't know," she said though gritted teeth. "That's why I'm asking. Who were you supposed to bring us to?"

He sighed. "We were supposed to bring you to Malfoy Manor."

"Is Harry and Ron there now?"

"I don' know."

She snorted and flew up from the armchair and headed out of the room.

"Wait!" he called after her, and she stopped. What point was it in defending those who had betrayed him? Really? He sighed deeply. "They 'aven't sent for the Dark Lord yet."

"Why?" she asked, without turning.

"I don' know," he said. "Greyback said somethin' about a locket, an' don' ask me wha'. They're in the look for you now, love. Tha's all I know."

She remained still, but she was breathing heavily.

"Why this?" he asked. He had chased the young witch, taunted her and hurt her, and yet she had saved his life and fed him. He couldn't help but to wonder why. "Why keep me alive? It's not like you fancy me or anythin', innit?" He smirked.

"Don't worry," she muttered. "It's not." She then left the room, and Scabior's smirk faded.

After that, she once again remained invisible to him. Five days after he first woke up in the tent, he could finally stand. His ribs were healed, and the bandages were no longer needed. He stood up, his legs stiff from lying down for so long. He felt restless, and angry. Where would he go now? If Greyback found out he was still alive, he would be hunted down for sure. Yet he wanted nothing more than to meet him again, so that he could have his revenge.

He got dressed. His shirt had been hung on a chair together with his leather coat. Sadly enough, the scarf was gone. As he buttoned his shirt, he couldn't help but thinking about her hands that had been unbuttoning it once, running across his chest, teasing his skin, tending to his wounds. Too bad he hadn't been awake to feel it. But he knew he should let all thoughts of her go; she was too young. After all, he had built his vision of her from a scent, not from herself. She was of Hogwarts-age. And she was a Mudblood, wanted by the Ministry. When he finally was on the right side of the law, he shouldn't get involved with the wrong side.

He left the room as he swung his coat on, and entered a kitchen. Hermione Granger was sitting by a table, reading a book, gripping Scabior's wand in her right hand.

"Took you long enough," she said without looking up.

"Why leave a comfortable bed before I'm forced to?" replied he.

She looked at him, and if looks could kill, he would be dead and burned in hell ten times over. "Put the blindfold on." She nodded towards a piece of fabric on the table. The scarf.

"Why?"

"Because I've got a wand, and you haven't," she said and wiggled the wand in her hand.

He clenched his jaw and looked down on pink scarf before him. This young woman knew how to play her cards right, and he cursed her for it. "If I do this your way," he started, "then wha' do I get out of it?"

"You get to stay alive," she said, her smooth voice cool as ice.

"You wouldn' kill me," he smirked. "You don' 'ave it in you."

"Try me." Her eyes were hard, her hand was steady. The tip of the wand was aimed towards his chest, and her eyes were dead set on his. She had made up her mind; he would not win this. "Trust me, I won't kill you if you do as I say. If I wanted you dead, I would have left you in the woods."

"Fine," he said and took the scarf from the table. "Let's do this your way." He had to respect the fact that the girl before him had a wand, and he had not. He bound he blindfold behind his head and waited for further instructions.

**.:{*}:.**

There was no way she could describe in words how good it felt that the Snatcher hadn't put up a fight, because she didn't know how much longer she could hold her cool and composed facade. But now, when he stood before her, unarmed and blinded, she felt safer that she'd done the past five days. She had barely gotten any sleep at all from worry and distress. Every night she lay awake, holding on to the wand as if was her dearest possession, and at this very moment, it was. At this very moment, that very wand was the only thing that could save her. She had questioned her decision of tending to him more than once during the last five days, and every time she thought about it, she considered to move him carefully, so that he wouldn't wake up, and lay him on the cold ground and let nature run its course and kill him. But she didn't have the heart. As he said; she wouldn't kill him, she didn't have it in her. However, that was something he didn't have to know. But now, when he was fully healed and awake, she didn't see any wrong doing by leading him away from the wards. He was a grown man; he could take care of himself. She took a deep breath and grabbed the Invisibility Cloak from underneath the table. "Turn around," she ordered him, and he did as told. "Now walk straight ahead." She led him out of the tent and as far away from the wards as possible. There were places where he tripped and fell on roots and such, and he became more and more aggravated and annoyed by this, and Hermione became tenser.

"Could you do me a favour and _watch where I'm goin'_?" he growled the third time he fell on some roots. They had been walking for half an hour by now.

"We're nearly there," Hermione mumbled.

He sighed and got to his feet with his arms stretched out before him. "An' where's 'there'?"

"You'll see soon enough," she said. They walked for another ten minutes before she ordered him to stop, which he did. "Now, you can remove the blindfold when I tell you to."

The Snatcher sighed heavily, but waited.

She looked at him. He had decided to trust her, despite the fact that they were enemies, and she admired him for that. The scarf that was tied over his eyes gave her a stomach-ache; that was Ron's scarf. She'd left it for _him_. But, she didn't know whether he was alive or not. Perhaps it was better to leave the scarf with the Snatcher. If he was to die of cold, all her work and worries the past week would have been for nothing. A scarf may not save him, but it may as well make a difference.

As silently as she could, Hermione put the cloak on and walked away, leaving him dumbfounded and blindfolded. She made sure that any trace left by them in the shallow snow disappeared, and when she had reached the safety of the wards and the tent, she packed it all and Disapparated.

**.:{*}:.**

The cold wind was tearing at his coat, and the snow was crunching underneath his boots. There was no other sound. What was she doing? "Granger," he growled. "Granger, this isn' funny." He sighed, but there was no reply. "Granger?" No reply. He turned his head, but there was no sound anywhere. He tore the scarf off and looked around. She was gone. Why was he surprised? She had disappeared with his wand. But at least she'd left the scarf. He could always find some consolation in that. He brought it up to his nose and smelled it; it still wore a faint smell of apples and elder. So that was it, then. He wasn't going to see her again. Even though he knew he'd thought she was too young, he still wanted to be near her, at least. But he reckoned she'd left already. But he would hold on to the scarf. Keep it near, so that he could always feel the scent of her.

He sighed again and looked around. She had led him to a steep hill, and below it was a small village. He knew it well; the Wizarding village of Willow. At least she hadn't left him to die.


	5. Claret

**A/N:** Chapter four is done. It didn't take me that long, did it? :) I'm actually pretty pleased with it, and it has certainly given me much more inspiration for upcoming chapters! Hope you all like it!

Enjoy!_**  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Perfume<strong>_

**Chapter Four**_  
>Claret<em>

Hermione looked at the wand in her hand. It fit well, but it didn't perform the magic she wished it to. Well, of course it didn't; she hadn't won it. It hadn't changed its alliance, and was still bound to… Scabior. She shook her head. She didn't want to be thinking about him. She had led him to a Wizarding village, full of purebloods. He would feel right at home. Although, she had to admit that it had felt good to have another soul in the tent. The solitude was nothing for her. She had Disapparated far from the place where she'd led the Snatcher, and had just finished setting up the enchantments, but she had had to do them twice as many times as usual, because she couldn't conjure them as strongly as she used to. She sighed deeply as she sat down after making a small fire. It was cold, and the fact that she was all alone and that her two best friends were in the hands of some ravenous Death Eaters didn't exactly warm things up. She tugged her coat tighter around her and pulled her knees up to her chin. As she watched the fire burn, the Snatcher's words suddenly popped into her head; '_It's not like you fancy me or anythin', innit?_' She huffed at the thought, but did she? Fancy him? A sudden flash of his lips against her neck came to her mind, and she swallowed. No one had ever touched her like that, and then… he came along, turning her world upside-down. But was it a fancy? No. No, it could not be! He was a dark, dangerous and malicious Snatcher, without any sense of morale whatsoever. But there was something to him she couldn't let go of. The very same morning she had found him and saved him, right after she had tended to his wounds, he had cried something in his sleep. Something about that it wasn't his fault and that he never meant to do it. What "it" was, was never revealed. Normally, Hermione would not want to know what "it" could be either, but the way he said it, voice filled with sadness and despair, made her curious. "Stop it, Hermione," she muttered to herself. She couldn't let thoughts of him fill her mind like that. No, she had a mission; to rescue Harry and Ron. Even though the Snatcher had said that he didn't know whether or not they were at Malfoy Manor, Hermione thought it was rather logical that they would be there. With the constant presence of Death Eaters, they were unlikely to escape. But she would save them. And now she had a wand. Even though it might not be as powerful for her as she wished it to be, she still believed in her magical abilities and her courage. She wasn't afraid of dying while fighting for something worth dying for. She was a Gryffindor! She knew that no matter how tough the Death Eaters were, they did everything they could to survive. But they didn't understand; she wasn't afraid to die, and that made her far deadlier than any of them. The only problem, really, was that she had no idea where Malfoy Manor was.

**.:{*}:.**

_A wand, a wand! My kingdom for a wand! _Scabior sat by a table in a corner of the local pub and drank a pint of beer. So far, he hadn't been forced to use a wand, which was lucky for him. The red band on his arm proved he was a Snatcher. They used to came here every now en than to get a good drink. However, people did seem to keep their distance. Just as well, for he was not in the mood for company. But he needed a wand. He felt naked without it, and not in a good way.

A tiny wizard came to stand next to him. "I—is there anything else, sir?"

Scabior looked at the wizard. "Yeah, get me a big glass of firewhiskey."

"Yes, sir," the tiny wizard said, "at once, sir!" Then he disappeared, and Scabior sighed. This was a nightmare! She might as well have left him to die in the forest! Taking his wand was a blow below the belt, and this meant war. Yes, yes, of course he could kill some drunken old sod in his sleep and claim his wand, but his pine wand was his, no matter what. Made of pine from the deep, northern Scandinavian woods, that wand had served him well since he was eleven years old. Saved him from a lot of… difficult situations. Like this one. What if someone in here didn't sympathise with the new regime and called him out for a duel? How was he supposed to duel without a wand? Oh, that girl was going to pay. He wasn't entirely sure how yet, though. She was indeed a pretty girl, and he would be lying if he said that he wasn't attracted to her. He could still feel her skin against his lips, and the corners of his lips curled into a smile. Well, a ghost of a smile, at least. He was still a bit glum about not being awake to feel her touch him. He could only assume she didn't use the wand to do that. Or hope… no matter, he could always imagine what it would be like. Yes, she was young, and yes, she was a Mudblood, but by Merlin, she was something else! Although, he feared that that fearless determination of hers would kill her in the end. The only way to get to her, he thought, was to be just as fearless… and that would work immensely much better with a wand.

The tiny wizard served him his big glass of firewhiskey, and he felt his bitterness for the lost wand as he took a large gulp of the coppery liquid and let it burn all the way to his stomach. He finished his glass with thoughts of Granger and his wand, and when he had finished it, he put the money on the table, and left. He didn't get that very far though, until he saw Frank, staggering across the cobbled street with a much suspicious looking lady on his arm. He recalled how Frank stood laughing while Greyback was kicking Scabior unconscious on the ground, and he narrowed his eyes. Oh, if there was something he couldn't bear, it was betrayal. And Frank had betrayed him, big time.

Scabior grabbed a rock from the ground and hid behind a corner, and waited. Frank was wasted, and would not put up much of a fight. As Frank passed him, he bashed the rock into the back of Frank's head, and the drunken Snatcher fell to the ground, blood oozing out of his head. The woman screamed as Scabior snatched up Frank's wand. A flick of the wand, and he had silenced her. She still stood screaming, though, now only soundless, as Scabior moved Frank towards the forest. Soon enough the people in the pub would find the lady he just silenced, and break the spell. But by then, Scabior would be deep into the woods, bringing his revenge upon someone he thought was his mate.

**.:{*}:.**

If it hadn't been for Dobby, Harry and Ron might be dead by now, and so would Luna, Griphook and Ollivander. But neither of them was yet satisfied; Hermione was still missing and Bellatrix Lestrange had apparently been informed about Voldemort's Horcruxes. Harry was restless. When Bellatrix had found the destroyed locket the Snatchers had taken from Harry, she had gone mad and yelled that they'd better find the Mudblood girl, or she would rip their heads off herself. Harry knew she'd understood that they had the Sword of Gryffindor, and that Hermione was the one carrying it. So wherever she was, she was in danger, while Harry and Ron were safe at Bill and Fleur's place. Ron was almost going mad with worry and did nothing but plan how they were going to rescue her.

"I can't stand this!" Ron barked one night while he and Harry had been sitting on the beach, discussing where Hermione could be. He rose and brought his hands to his hips. "She could be anywhere! That perverted _freak_ could have done anything to her, Harry! _Anything_!"

"Ron, calm down," Harry said. "We'll find her."

"What if he killed her, Harry?" Ron continued, ignoring Harry's reassuring words, and started pacing back and forth. "What if he had his way with her, and then killed her? That sick, _bloody _bastard!"

"Ron, please!" Harry exclaimed. "We can't—we can't imagine the worst! We have to believe that she got away! It's Hermione we're talking about; she can take care of herself."

"She doesn't have a wand!" Ron shouted and stopped pacing to look at him and pulled out Hermione's wand from his pocket, his voice filled with panic as well as anger. "You think she'll win a duel without this?" He wiggled it in front of Harry's face. "Hermione might be a brilliant witch, but she's not _that_ brilliant!" Then he sighed. "Harry, if anything happens to her, I won't be able to go on living, knowing that we could have saved her!"

"There was nothing we could have done!" Harry said.

Ron snorted and continued pacing. "It was all Xenophilius Lovegood's fault! If he hadn't called for them, she would still be with us! Harry, we have to leave, now! The longer we stay here, the further away she'll be!"

Harry sighed deeply and looked out over the sea. He had never been so divided about anything in his entire life; he knew he had to go looking for Hermione, but he also knew that the next Horcrux was in Bellatrix Lestrange's vault at Gringotts. Well, he wasn't entirely sure, but he couldn't explain why else she had gone ballistic when she found the locket and asked where the Sword was, what else they had taken and how they had broken into her vault in the first place when it was supposed to be impenetrable. If Voldemort could be confident enough to entrust the Sword of Gryffindor to her, the very destroyer of Horcruxes, then he would surely be confident enough to entrust her with a Horcrux, too, now when she knew about them. Harry's priorities were not the thing in question here, though. Of course he wanted to save Hermione, at any cost! The only question was whether or not there would be enough time to find Hermione _and_ get the Horcrux before Bellatrix did.

**.:{*}:.**

"Please, Scab, I swear!" Frank cried as he was hanging upside-down in mid air, deep within the forest safely away from the village of Willow, his nose broken, his head filled with nasty gashes and a few ribs broken. "I 'adn' anythin' to do wiv it!"

Scabior snorted and twisted Frank's wand so that Frank twisted with it, and grunted in pain. "So, you 'adn' anythin' to do with it, 'ad you? You just… 'appened to be there, watchin' as Greyback beat the livin' 'ell out of me, laughin'?"

"I didn'—I wasn'—I was nervous! He threatened to do the same thing to all of us!" Frank cried. "Please! Don' kill me!"

Scabior laughed and shook his head. "You're pathetic, you know tha'?" Then he walked around Frank in a circle, laughing darkly. "You know, I thought you were my mate."

"I am! I am! I swear, I didn' want 'im to do tha' to you!"

With a flick of the wand, Scabior had silenced him, and cast a Cruciatus Curse at him and sighed, frustration burning inside of him. "When I remove the spell, I want you to tell me where Grayback is. Understood?"

Frank nodded rapidly, and Scabior undid the spell.

"Where is 'e?"

"'E's out lookin' for tha' Mudblood girl!" Frank said, voice cracking, and Scabior stopped walking. "Lestrange said tha' 'e could do wha' 'e wanted wiv the girl, but wha'ever belonged to 'er, was Lestrange's!"

Scabior clenched his jaw. He knew they were in the look for her, but he thought Lestrange wanted her alive. Apparently, she didn't give a damn about her life. He wasn't very surprised, but he just thought… well, he thought Bellatrix Lestrange was the sort of woman who would like to kill her enemies herself, not let some werewolf do it for her. Moreover, even though he wished he didn't feel that way, he couldn't stand the thought of Greyback's furry hands on her delicate body.

"I swear," Frank sobbed, "I don' know any more than I've told you! Please, don' kill me, Scab! You're better than tha'!"

"Don' mock me," Scabior growled and slapped the back of his hand across Frank's bloody face, enraged. Frank knew where Greyback was. Of course he did, because he had Disapparated from the camp for a couple of hours of pleasure. He wouldn't leave Greyback's gang; it gave him authority. He knew exactly where Greyback were. "Tell me where 'e is, an' I migh' let you live."

"I don' know!" Frank said, now sobbing so hard, it was hard to make out what he was saying.

"Frank!" Scabior barked. "I know you know where 'e is! Now, tell me!"

"'_E's goin' to kill me if I do, Scab!_" Frank wailed.

"An' I'll kill you if you don'!" Scabior shouted. "But, if you tell me where Grayback is, I'll make sure 'e won' kill you."

"You promise?" Frank cried.

"I promise," Scabior said.

"The camp's in Selwood Forest," Frank said. "On the north-eastern side. We're not supposed to leave 'til tomorrow."

Scabior processed the new information and tried to verify it. Selwood Forest was in Somerset, only a county away from Malfoy Manor. If Granger was to rescue her friends, she wouldn't stay in the same county, but close enough, and she wouldn't stay in the Forest of Dean again. Selwood Forest would be perfect. No matter how much he hated the man, he had to give some credit to Greyback for figuring that out. He looked at Frank; he wasn't lying. Scabior was good at reading lies, and this man was a poor liar. But now when he had served his purpose and led Scabior to Greyback, it was time to pay for his sins. "Thank you."

"Great," Frank said, notably relieved. "Now, let me down, will you?"

Scabior raised an eyebrow. "Let you down? Why would I do tha'?" Then he laughed. "No, my friend, I'm goin' to kill you."

Frank gasped in horror. "You said tha' if I told you where 'e was, you'd let me live!"

"I said that I _might_ let you live!" Scabior corrected. "An' quite frankly, _Frank_, you 'aven' really deserved my mercy now, 'ave you?"

"No!" Frank yelled. "No, please! I can help you! Please!"

Scabior raised Frank's wand and pointed it at its soon previous master.

"No! I promise, you'll 'ave my loyalty for all eternity! I'll do wha'ever you ask me to, Scab! Please, don'—"

"_Avada Kedavra_." The green flash hit Frank in the chest, and he was forever silenced. Scabior looked down on the wand in his hand. It was his now. He had killed its previous master, and he felt how it changed. A smirk spread across his lips and he laughed scornfully to himself. _Greyback's gonna get it_, he thought as he took a grip of Frank's body and turned on spot.

**.:{*}:.**

The tears were inevitable as the darkness closed in around Hermione. She was all alone in a place she'd never been to before. She had only read about it in books and seen it in pictures. Thetford Forest was a huge pine forest, and she couldn't help but to feel a bit intimidated by the spacious area of tall, naked boles and thick, impenetrable crowns. It made her feel trapped, like in a big, green cage. There was plenty of room for her to set up the tent, but as she looked up, there was no way to spot even the smallest of star due to the rich needled crowns. Roe deer and foxes were screaming and making it hard for her to concentrate. She had to stay strong. She had to stay focused. She couldn't let the darkness and the solitude break her. She had to do something to keep her thoughts from straying. If she wanted to be able to stand her ground, at least for a while, against the Death Eaters, she'd better practice, and that's what she did. She built dummies out of branches and dried grass and placed stones yards away so that she could practice her aim. She used the dummies to practice her strength and make sure that the pine wand wouldn't fail her. It took her most of the night to build the dummies, and before the sun would finally rose and let some of its rays penetrate the thick green above her, she felt the exhaustion spread in her body. She had to sleep. She put the fire out and went into the tent. She put Harry's Sneakoscope on the table and went to bed. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep for too long, but she needed the rest, in her body, soul and mind, letting the eerie screams of the roe deer and foxes be her lullaby.

_There is a terrible scream somewhere in the distance. She listens to it carefully, but she cannot make out where it comes from. She looks around; she is all alone on a snowy field. Her feet are bare and all she is wearing is a white robe, haggard by dirt, blood and age. Her brown hair is a mess, and her body is tired and weak. She's breathing hard. The white scenery is expanding, but its size makes it terrifying, cold and trapping. She tries to move, but her feet are frozen in place. She looks down, panic rising in her chest; the scream is closing in, and she cannot move! She puts her arms around herself. The cold is biting her cruelly. Suddenly, the scene dissolves a few yards in front of her, and a dark room with a dark marble floor borders with the powdery snow, like a stage on the huge field. The cold wind blows some of the snow onto the dark floor, creating a chilling contrast. Still, she cannot move. Two persons appear in the room, and she knows them well; Harry and Ron. They are bounded, and hurt, and they are crying out for her, but she cannot move. She reaches out for them, but they are too far away, yet so close! _

_A chilling laugh, colder than the snow on the ground and the icy wind of the north, flies eerily through the air and a woman walks onto the floor; her hair is black and tangled, her face is dark and sunken and an evil smirk is placed upon her lips. "Ladies and gentlemen!" She speaks loudly, facing a non-existent audience. The only one who is there is Hermione. "I am honoured that so many of you showed up here tonight!" She gives a deep bow and then she looks at the two victims on the stage. "I know you have been waiting for a long time, ladies and gentlemen, but wait no more!" She turns to the audience again. "The time you have all been waiting for, is here!" A loud noise of applauds and cheers is suddenly heard, and Hermione looks around is fear to see from where the noise is coming from, but no one is there. Bellatrix Lestrange bows again. "Now," she says, "enjoy the show!" She then returns to Harry and Ron. "_Crucio_!" As the curse strikes Harry, he falls to the ground, twisting and screaming in anguish and pain._

"NO_!" Hermione screams. _

_Bellatrix laughs and aims her wand at Ron. "_Crucio!_"_

_He, too, falls to the ground, and is thrown around by painful spasms while Bellatrix is laughing maniacally and dances around them like a child around a Christmas tree. _

_Hermione falls to her knees, crying. "No!" She cannot watch any more of their torture, and closes her eyes. But their screams still fill her ears, and she covers them tightly. "No!" _

_Arms are closing around her and lift her up, the ice releasing its grip of her feet. She keeps her eyes closed as she's sobbing hard against a chest. Warmth is spreading as the body-heat of her saviour is embracing her. The smell of firewhiskey, cigarette smoke, black smoke, forest and musk is familiar and comforting, and she cries even harder. The tormented screams of her friends are growing more and more distant as she is carried across the immense field. Her saviour then puts her down, now on a leaf-covered forest floor. A hush and a hand that puts a lock of her wild hair behind her ear makes her stop crying, but she still keeps her eyes shut. _

"_Why keep me alive?" he asks. "It's not like you fancy me or anythin', innit?"_

"_Don't worry", she whispers hoarsely. "It's not." _

Hermione opened her eyes and had to blink a couple of times before she realised she was awake. She then sighed and sat up. It took another few moments for her before she remembered that she was alone. Harry wouldn't greet her good morning and tell her that there was a tea-pot ready for her in the kitchen, and she wouldn't hear Ron's tired grunts form the other bunk bed. She wouldn't even hear the snores and mystical conversations form the Snatcher again. She was all alone. As the realisation struck her, and the dream returned with all its discomfort, she buried her face in her hands and cried.

**.:{*}:.**

In that split second while Scabior was hanging in the midst between two places with a corpse in his one hand and his new wand in the other, he decided not to slit Greyback's throat in his sleep, but to get all of them, all of the filthy traitor that had turned their backs against him and watched and participated in their intentional killing of him. He Apparated a short distance from where the camp was, and he knew he was at the right place; the sounds of laughter and the sparkling of a fire gave them away. He snuck closer, with Frank's body hovering behind him, and stopped a couple of yards away. He conjured a piece of paper on which he so nicely scribbled a little message so that all of them would know who to thank for this lovely gift, and put it in the corpse's mouth. He then sent the body slowly flying towards their backs and then he released it. He heard the loud thud as the body hit the ground, and he remained hidden amongst the trees, watching with a smirk on his lips as the Snatchers turned in surprise and startle and gasped and screamed at the sight of the brutally battered body that once had been Frank, one of them.

"Frank?" one asked with eyes widened.

"Boss!" another yelled, his voice cracking. "_Boss!_"

"What?" Greyback shouted and stormed out of the tent. "Did you see the Mud—" He stopped and gazed down on the body. The scene froze for a second or two. Nobody moved, nobody said a word. Scabior watched intensively. He wanted to see the reaction when they all understood what was going on. Greyback finally moved. He examined the body while the others stood scared out of their wits. He found the note and took it out and unfolded it. Scabior couldn't see his face as he was reading it, but he sat hunched over the body, reading the note for quite some time before he rose, his shoulders squared. Then he let out a roar that echoed in the night. "_Scabior, I'll get you, you little maggot_!"

Scabior smirked as the others gasped.

"Scab did this?" a Snatcher asked. "No… no, he couldn'! Scabior's dead! We killed him, didn' we, boss? We killed him good, didn' we?"

Greyback's hand flew to the Snatcher's throat and lifted him up. "_'Eeny, meeny, miny, moe; traitor's claret red shall flow; I'll slit your throat, I'll break your head; by vengeful hand you'll all be dead'_? You're telling me that that's not Scabior's fabricate?" The Snatcher couldn't answer him, and Greyback threw him back on the ground. "Let's get a move on, yeah? I suspect he isn't very happy. No one miraculously raised from the dead tend to be these days."

It was with a very pleased smirk Scabior watched his former colleagues Disapparate in panic. Greyback feared him, of that he was confident. Fenrir Greyback knew that Scabior was one of the best trackers in the whole country, and one of the fastest, and at this very moment, he was certainly the deadliest. He snorted; how utterly idiotic of Greyback not to finish him off with the Killing Curse! No, that stupid git always relied on his physical strength. Dimwit. "Let the chase begin," Scabior mused to himself as he Disapparated to seek reinforcements for his new scheme that was growing steadily in his mind.

**.:{*}:.**

"_Stupefy_!" Hermione shouted as she cast the Stunning Spell towards the dummy for the third time, but nothing happened. It swayed a little in the rope it was hanging from, but nothing more. Hermione sighed and muttered. "Stupid wand! _Stupefy, stupefy, stupefy_!" Still nothing happened. Hermione became more and more irritated as the wand simply refused to serve her. "_STUPEFY_!" Perhaps, only perhaps, a small, black mark had now been formed on the dummy where the spell had hit it, otherwise, nothing. She growled loudly. "You have _got_ to be kidding me?" Unable to contain her anger, she once again aimed the wand towards the dummy and barked; "_Confringo_!" A red light blasted out of the pine wand and hit the dummy with a large, fiery explosion, and forced Hermione to throw herself onto the ground, covering her head with her arms. When she looked up again, the dummy was no more. All it was now was small, burning pieces of wood and grass on the forest bed. She squealed out a sound of utter surprise as she looked at the wand in her hand and then over to the remains of her dummy. She had no idea what had just happened, and why it had reacted in that way. Could it have been her aggravated anger that set it off? Or, perhaps it was because that spell was… she gasped in disgust and wrinkled her nose as the realisation hit her; it responded better to curses than normal spells. Of course it did. She sat up and brushed off leaves and dirt from her clothes. She then sighed deeply as she looked out over the empty forest. "Great," she said out loud. "I'm all alone in a forest, without food, without water, without company and with a wand that forces me to become morally incorrect! So, what do you think I should do about it then, huh?" She flung her arms around. "And now I'm talking to myself! Fabulous! This is only getting better!" She snorted as she got to her feet and began packing her things. It was time to move along. Nowhere was safe now.


	6. Valerie

**A/N: **And yes, here's another chapter! Great, it seems like my inspiration is still there! :) I just want to thank all of you for all the wonderful reviews; I'm really thankful!

Oh, and if there's someone (anyone!) that knows Gaelic, please feel free to comment on my poor try to use it..

Enjoy!_**  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Perfume<strong>_

**Chapter Five**_  
>Valerie <em>

He loved Edinburgh. He could sit anywhere he wanted without being considered as a freak, but unlike London, he would still be left alone. He liked that. But today, he couldn't be just anywhere. He had to be where she was; Valerie McKinley, the noted mercenary who had been kicked out of the magical society after a devastating misjudging in who to trust. Scabior and Valerie had been good friends at Hogwarts. They were in the same house, in the same year, and when every plan of the future failed them, they became mercenaries together, serving only the highest bidder. They were good at what they were doing, and because of it they were in the good book of both Death Eaters and the Ministry, hovering in a limbo between criminality and secret service, and neither the Death Eaters nor the Ministry knew they were double-crossing them all. But Scabior ended up in Azkaban after a very unfortunate event, and Valerie kept on doing others' bidding. But she didn't last long, either. Only a couple of months later, someone rattled out on her. Instead of sending her to Azkaban, though, they destroyed her wand and cast her out. Today she lived in Edinburgh and worked on a pub in Old Town. And that was where Scabior waited. He had no idea when she started working, but he would wait.

The hours crawled by like years, and then suddenly the door opened, and there she was, the tall, grey-eyed warrior-woman. _Valerie_.

Scabior leaned back with a smirk and took a sip of his whiskey. Muggle-whiskey was nothing like firewhiskey, but there was nothing he could do about that now. The pocket-flask in his jacket was for later. He waited for her to spot him, because he knew she would. It didn't take long, either, until their eyes met, and she sighed deeply and walked to take a seat in front of him. Her big, grey eyes were suspicious. Then again, they always were.

"'Ello, love," he smiled.

She glared at him. "Scab, what are you doing here?" Her Scottish accent rang clear, and Scabior smiled.

"Is tha' 'ow you greet an old friend?" he asked.

She sighed. "Fine, sorry."

"How've you been?" he asked.

"Well, you know, there've been ups and downs," she said and shrugged. Then she clenched her jaw. "What are you doing here, Scabior?"

"Right," Scabior said and took a deep breath. "I need your 'elp."

Valerie sat silent and looked at him, her arms crossed.

"You've dyed you 'air," he said, pretending to be interested. "Scarlet looks really good—"

"What do you mean 'help'?" Valerie interrupted. "What have you done? Have the Death Eaters found out that you helped the Ministry back in the days?"

"No, tha's not it," Scabior muttered. He then sighed. His beloved firewhiskey would be needed for this, he knew that, because Valerie wouldn't like what he was about to tell. He pulled out the pocket-flask together with his wand, put it on the table and sighed heavily. "Do you 'ave a moment?"

Valerie sighed again and glanced over to the bar. "Hang on a minute," she said and rose. She went up to the bar, spoke to the barman and went back to the boot where Scabior was sitting, and sat down again. She held two glasses in her hand and gave one to Scabior and placed the other in front of herself. She then looked at him, then at the pocket-flask, and then at the wand. She raised an eyebrow. "Why do you have Frankie-boy's wand? Where's yours?"

"Frank's dead." His words were short, and he didn't even dare to look at her while he spoke.

"What?" Her words were sharp and cold, poisonous and deadly. "What do you mean 'dead'?"

"'E's dead," Scabior snapped and looked at her. "Deceased. Departed. Gone. _Dead_!"

"Why do you carry his wand?" Valerie growled. "Where's your pine wand?"

Scabior opened the pocket-flask and filled both his glass and hers and gulped his own before he answered; "it's been taken."

"But why have you got Frank's wand?" she almost shouted. Luckily, there weren't many in that pub today. To them, "wand" could be anything. She sighed and lowered her voice. "What did you do?"

"I killed him," he hissed, and her eyes widened.

"You—you killed _Frankie-boy_?" she hissed back and leaned over the table. "_Why_? He's always been faithful! He was your _friend_, Scabior! Does that mean _nothing_ to you?"

"Greyback tried to kill me," Scabior said as he poured himself another glass of his firewhiskey.

Valerie took her first sip of the firewhiskey and leaned back. "Greyback's Greyback. What did you do this time? Step on his tail?" Then she leaned over the table again. "What's that got to do with _Frankie-boy_?"

"'E stood laughin'," Scabior said, his voice cold as ice. "'E stood laughin' while Greyback was killin' me. You call tha' a friend?" Then he snorted. "No, you know as well as I wha' tha' makes 'im."

Valerie sighed and took another sip of the firewhiskey. Then she nodded slowly. "A traitor," she said and took another sip.

Scabior knew it was hard for her to take it in; she had always had a thing for Frank, and he had always admired her. But it didn't matter now. "I'm gonna kill 'em all, Val. An' I need your 'elp."

She shook her head. "I have no unfinished business with Greyback."

Scabior laughed scornfully as he took a sip of his firewhiskey. "Who do you think rattled you out?" She looked at him, frozen in shock. Scabior then took out another wand from his pocket, one that he had nicked from a witch the very same day. He wiggled it in front of her. "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe?" He smiled and held out the wand for her to take.

After a moment's hesitation, she took it, lust for vengeance radiating from her grey eyes, and a corner of her lips curled into a vicious smirk. "Catch a traitor by its toe."

He laughed as he raised his glass. "Tha's my girl! You can 'ide, you can pray—"

"We will catch you anyway!" And with that, they rang their classes together and drank, both hungry for revenge against those who had done them wrong.

**.:{*}:.**

Another day, another place. Hermione stood by the riverbank of River Hodder. She had never been to the Forest of Bowland before, but she had read about it many times. It had been designated an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, and it was truly a beautiful landscape. However, Hermione couldn't really concentrate on the beautiful surroundings as she had her mind set on other things. She needed to find Malfoy Manor. If Harry and Ron were still alive, they needed her. But how was she to find them? It tore her apart that she didn't know! Sometimes, just sometimes, she thought about saying Voldemort's name, just so that they would come and find her. She would then tell them her real name, and they would bring her to Harry and Ron. Although, somehow, it would feel better if Scabior was one of the Snatchers still; he owed her. "Oh, give it a rest, Hermione!" she mused to herself. "He'd never honour something like that!" Then she sighed. "Or would he? No. No, he wouldn't. Then why did he let me go? Oh, _stop it_!" She shook her head. "Great," she muttered. "I'm going mad. Completely nutters." She picked out a spot to put up the tent and did the enchantments, again twice as many times.

When the dark came, Hermione had made a fire and gathered some mushrooms for a very tasteless mushroom soup. She sighed deeply as she tried to figure out how to find Malfoy Manor. She had to find Harry and Ron. But she knew they wouldn't call for Voldemort as long as Hermione was out of their grasp. Scabior had mentioned the locket; it had been in Harry's pocket. The Snatchers must have found it when they searched it, and somehow, Bellatrix Lestrange had seen it. And if they were after Hermione, a Muggleborn without meaning, it must be because Bellatrix knew about the Horcruxes and that Hermione had the Sword of Gryffindor. So, as long as the Sword of Gryffindor was with Hermione, another person who knew about the Horcruxes, Bellatrix Lestrange would never have the courage to call for Voldemort. So, Hermione had the upper hand in the situation. However, she had no idea what was done to Harry and Ron in the meantime. The bare thought of Bellatrix's mentally unstable mind and the consequences of it made her tremble. She had to get there! She had to find Harry and Ron, and she had to get them out of there! She could hide her bag. Yes, she could hide the beaded handbag somewhere Bellatrix would never find it! That way, she wouldn't kill them, because if she did, she wouldn't get the Sword. But how to find Malfoy Manor? She sighed deeply in frustration and clenched her jaw. She scanned her memories if she'd ever overheard Malfoy talking about his home, or if she'd heard someone else talk about it.

"Alright," she said to herself. "The Malfoys… what do I know about the Malfoys? They're mean." She sighed. She knew nothing of them. "They're purebloods! Alright; purebloods, old bloodline, probably a family-house…" Her mind was working at maximum speed. Perhaps she had a book about it? Perhaps, in _Warlocks and Witches of the Past_—

There was a noise, and she gasped and snapped her head towards the sound. _Voices_. She held her breath and grip around the pine wand became so cramp-like, her knuckles whitened. She looked around, but it was too dark for her to see. She immediately put the fire out and scanned the darkness.

"_Where are we, boss?_" she heard a man ask.

"_Bowland_," another one answered, and a shiver ran up Hermione's spine; Fenrir Greyback.

"_Wha'_?" the first one asked, sounding incredibly unintelligent.

"_Forest of Bowland, Lancashire_," Greyback growled through gritted teeth.

"_Lanca—wha' are we doin' in Lancashire?_" another man asked. "_Isn' tha'… like… really far from Wiltshire? I mean, if the Mudblood is plannin' on rescuin' 'er friends, you said—_"

"_I know what I said!_" Greyback shouted. Then he snorted. "_The odds are changed_."

Hermione gasped soundlessly. Wiltshire! Malfoy Manor was in _Wiltshire_! Although, they all seemed ready for her…

"_You think he meant it?_" another Snatcher asked. "_What he wrote on that note?_"

"_Hardly_," Greyback said. "_Scabior_ _may be big-mouthed, but he's a bloody chicken!_"

"_He killed Frank!_"

"_And I'll kill you if you keep on talking about it!_" Greyback roared. "_Now, let's set up camp here. We need to regroup._"

Hermione breathed heavily. She had to leave, but she couldn't. Not as long as they were there. Her wards weren't strong enough to conceal the noise she would make by packing. Or, perhaps it was; she didn't know, and she didn't want to take the risk. A thought ran through her mind; what if she could overpower them? The pine wand might not be strong with normal spells and charms, but it was very sensitive and strong to curses. She had never done it before, but she was confident that she could find enough rage to produce a strong enough Cruciatus Curse. But she didn't want to leave the safety of the wards, because if they really didn't see or hear her, she was safe. But how to make sure the wards wouldn't fail her? How had it failed her last time? Scabior felt her scent… that was it! The perfume! Scabior was hardly a werewolf, and therefore he hadn't the same senses as Greyback; if Greyback wouldn't notice her perfume, she knew she was safe and that the wards was strong enough for her to be safe within. She glanced at her bag. The small bottle was in it somewhere. Slowly, oh so slowly, she moved the wand to the opening of the bag and murmured; "_Accio_ perfume", and the small bottle came flying to her hand. She put some on, only a little, and then put it back in her bag, but just as she had done it, she regretted it. The wards she had casted when Scabior felt her scent were with her own wand. These weren't. These were from a wand that didn't want to cooperate with her. If Scabior could smell her through even her strongest barriers, then Greyback would certainly feel her scent now, and yet he did not move.

She thought about running away. But the noise would bring the attention of the Snatchers, and Greyback would be intelligent enough to understand what was going on, so that wouldn't be a good idea. No, she would stay put, hoping Scabior's wand would keep her safe. After all, he really did owe it to her.

**.:{*}:.**

Valerie's flat was shabby and small, but the interior was just as Scabior remembered her taste; heavy, green velvet armchairs, dark, heavy curtains and dark wooden tables. Candles were spread on the floor with wax sticking them onto it and bottles of suspicious liquids and powders covered the kitchen counters. A big symbol was drawn on the wooden floor, a symbol Scabior had no idea what it meant, even though he'd seen it several times.

"Charmin'," he said as he looked around. "You still haven' quit this kinda stuff, I see."

"It's in my blood, Scab," Valerie sighed and sat down in an armchair. "Now, how are you planning on finding them?"

Scabior made a gesture and looked around. "I suggest you do your thing."

"Scabior!" Valerie cried. "I can't use my ancestry just because… just because… just because you _suggest_ it!"

Scabior snorted. "Val, Greyback betrayed you. You wanna find 'im, yeah?" Then he sighed. "Just… do you mumbo-jumbo, an' find 'em!"

"Druid magic is not _mumbo-jumbo_," Valerie growled.

"Sorry then," Scabior said and rolled his eyes. "Just do your thing, an' find 'em, please."

"One condition," Valerie said, and Scabior nodded, "Greyback's mine."

He clenched his jaw. He wanted to twist Greyback's neck with his own two hands. But then again, he would prefer death before being kicked out from the whole Wizarding community. "Fine. You don' lay a hand on the others, an' I get to touch 'im up a bit before you go ahead an' do the deed."

"Deal." She rose and walked up to the kitchen counters. She scanned through the bottles and then uttered an "aha" and picked up a bottle containing a crystal clear, heavenly blue liquid.

"Wha's tha'?" He had had enough experience with her so called "Druid magic" to know when to be suspicious, and when she took something from a bottle like that, it never boded well.

"Tears from a unicorn," Valerie said as she brought the bottle to the symbol on the floor. She then sat down in the middle of the symbol and ordered Scabior to light the candles, which he did.

"Now wha'?" he asked.

"Do you have anything that belongs or has belonged to Greyback?"

Scabior raised an eyebrow. "No."

"Right," Valerie said. "Well, if you go into the bathroom, you'll find the necklace Greyback gave to me."

"You've still got tha'?" Scabior looked at his old friend with new scepticism.

"Just do it!" Valerie said and rolled her eyes.

Scabior sighed and walked into the small bathroom. He turned the lights on and looked around. He found the long, ancient necklace beside the mirror. It was a necklace with a Celtic symbol as hanging. Scabior and Valerie had crossed path with Greyback before Scabior was locked up, and something beyond friendship had developed between Valerie and him. Scabior didn't understand it, whatsoever, but it was none of his business.

He grabbed the necklace and brought it back to Valerie. She took it and in her right hand and poured one drop of unicorn tears on it. She then pulled out another necklace from her shirt, with a silvery symbol of the Celtic Trinity as hanging, and held it in her left hand.

"_Bandia dar dáta gealach, cloisfidh tú mé_," she murmured. "Keeper of the lost, help me find what I seek."

Scabior held his breath. He knew it took much energy for her to open the channels, but as she closed her eyes, he knew it was working. The candlelight began to flare, and Scabior shuddered. He could feel the ancient magic gather in the small apartment. It made him feel like his wand held no power, whatsoever. "Do you see 'em?"

"Yes," Valerie said, eyes still closed.

"Where are they?"

"In a forest." She tightened her eyes. "I… there's something else there, too… it's like I'm watching them from… through some kind of shield. Like a Shield Charm, or something."

Scabior knitted his brows. "Shield Charm? Someone's there, 'idin' from 'em?"

"Yes."

"Well, who is it?"

"I don't know!" Valerie snapped. "Shut up, I'm trying to hear what they are saying!"

Scabior muttered and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Greyback's talking about a girl," Valerie said. "A Mudblood girl…" A pause. "He's talking real low, I can't hear…"

"Concentrate!"

Valerie sighed. "If I could only get a bit closer I could… there, now I can hear them. He says that it wasn't his fault that Potter and Weasley escaped."

"Potter and Weasley esc—"

"Now they're talking about you." She opened her mouth a bit, but closed it. Then she shook her head. "They're afraid you'll find them."

Scabior snorted. "An' they should."

"Oh no…"

"'Oh no' wha'?" Scabior said and stared at her. "Wha's happenin'?"

"They're planning on going," Valerie said. "You have to get there fast."

"Where are they then?"

"I don't… wait… I… Bowland. They're in Bowland Forest. But Scab, you have to hurry, they—"

But Scabior didn't stay around to listen. He Apparated to Bowland Forest, right where they had their camp, but they were gone. They must have Disapparated at the exact same time as he did. The put out fire was fresh, and the air carried the heavy stank of Greyback. Scabior roared and kicked the hot coal. He had been so close. But then…

Something sweet came in a breeze; blooming elder and apples… it was her. Hermione Granger. She was there. He looked around, but he couldn't see her. Of course; it was her wards Valerie had seen through. He took a deep sniff; yes. Yes, she was there. He smirked and sat down and leaned against the tree and waited. He was confident she would come to him.

**.:{*}:.**

Their voiced had kept her awake the whole night, even though she hadn't been able to determine what they were saying. Just as well, because she was afraid of falling asleep. But there had been a stir amongst them. They had decided not to stay the night in this place and move along. She watched them as they Disapparated, but just as all of them were gone, another one appeared, and she knew him well; that tall, slender figure with that tangled, dark hair and that leather jacket… _Scabior_. He roared and kicked the glowing coal out of the fire. He had been looking for them, not for her. For _them_. He then stopped and looked around, as if he was going to see them. He then sat down, and waited for them.

Hermione swallowed. Was he really thinking they would come back? But he waited. He leaned against that tree, and just…waited. She watched him, probably for half an hour. She had been brave enough to start the fire again when the other Snatchers had been there, so at least it was warm. But he sat over there, alone and cold. Why didn't he start a fire? He held a wand in his hand. He could easily start one, but no. He just sat there, and after an hour or two, he had fallen asleep. She sat for another hour, watching him sleeping. His head tilted to the side and his mouth was opened as he snored. She felt somehow sorry for him. It was chilly outside. She had already saved him from the cold once, and if she did it again, then that must mean… that must mean she cared for him. Well, did she? No. No, she did not. However, she didn't want to see him like that. She took his wand and tapped it on the handbag. "_Accio_ blanket," she said, and a woollen blanket came whirling from the depth of the beaded handbag. She then rose silently, and with the wand outstretched before her, she started walking towards the sleeping Snatcher, leaving the safety of the wards behind her. She walked as silently as she could, assuming he was a light sleeper. She looked at him. He seemed so serene, so peaceful. A smile played upon her lips as she looked at him. He wasn't even half as terrifying when he was sleeping, and not muttering things in his sleep. She bent forwards to put the blanket over him, but suddenly a strong hand grasped her wrist, and the wand fell out of her hand. She gasped loudly, and her blood froze as she saw his piercing grey eyes open and slash straight through flesh and soul. With a simple tug, she was knocked down, his weight pinning her to the ground.

"'Ello beautiful," he purred with a smirk.

Hermione couldn't move. She couldn't speak. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as the Snatcher leaned closer to her to smell her neck, and fresh, salty tears filled her eyes. A hand travelled slowly up her one side and landed on her cheek as he looked at her with a smirk upon his lips, and her body was trembling beneath him like a leaf in an autumn wind.

"So young," he said and knitted his brows. His thumb caressed her trembling lips, and he sighed. "So innocent." He leaned closer, and her heart hammered inside her chest as his lips were only inches away from hers. "An' yet you're such a bloody little nightmare." He planted his lips on hers in a rather soft kiss, and yet so terribly poisonous. It was as if he kissed her life goodbye. She gazed upon him in bewilderment; what was he going to do to her? Was this to be the end of her, and all because she decided to show a bit of compassion? His lips left hers and trailed along her jaw and finally pressed against the soft skin right below her earlobe and she gasped when his hand slowly formed a firm grip around her throat.

"You really thought it would be tha' easy to get away from me, eh?" he murmured into her ear. He tightened his grip around her throat. "You thought tha' takin' my wand and leavin' me wandless would do the trick, didn' you?" He laughed softly. "Well, lovely, it's never tha' easy, now innit?"

As the hand tightened around her throat, almost to the point of suffocation, she finally succeeded to move, and brought her hands to the strangling one and tried to push it away. Panic rose inside of her as she realised that she couldn't breathe, and she starting kicking wildly with her legs. Dots were starting to blur her vision, and she knew this was it. She was do die.

"Tha' won' serve you well, darlin'," he growled in her ear as he applied one final thrust of pressure to her throat, and one last, gurgling sound escaped her mouth before everything before her eyes darkened, and it was all over.


	7. Safe

**A/N:** Right, here's chapter six! So, after a very understandable comment about Valerie's non-existant accent (and after my week in Scotland, which was **_awesome_**, by the way) I've figured that one way of getting her character to really pop is to give her a ligit accent. So, let me know if I succeeded or failed! :)

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Perfume<strong>_

**Chapter Six**_  
>Safe<em>

William Weasley was a humble and brave man, and he understood the meaning of love. He understood that his younger brother wanted to go out searching for the girl he loved, and he understood why nothing but her would make him happy at this very moment, but he was also a clever man, and a cautious man, and he knew that it was mad to leave the safety of Shell Cottage to go out looking for her in times like these. But to talk some sense into him was as easy as catching a Snitch with the hands tied behind the back.

"Ron." Bill had kept his mouth shut for a long time about his obsession, but now, in the middle of the night, when Ron was ransacking the kitchen for provision, almost waking every resident and guest, he couldn't keep quiet anymore. "Ron!"

"What?"

"What are you doing?" Bill hissed. "You're waking up the whole bloody house!"

"I'm going," Ron muttered.

"What about Harry, then?"

"He'll get the—he'll do what he has to do," Ron said. "And I'll do what I have to do."

"You're going to leave him on his own?" Bill raised an eyebrow. He knew this wasn't like his brother whatsoever. "I don't know what all of you are up to, but if I know you as well as I think I do, I know it's too dangerous to leave it all to Harry."

Ron seemed to hesitate. Then he sighed deeply and looked his brother. "Bill, I have to. I can't eat, I can't sleep! All I'm doing is worrying about her! Where is she? Is she still running or is she caught? And if she is, what are they doing to her? I can't stop thinking the worst, Bill! What if those bloody Snatchers have her? What if they—"

"Ron!" Bill cut off, a bit louder than he intended. "Don't! We have to believe that she's okay."

"You sound just like Harry!" Ron spat. "Well, I can't, because all I see is that dirty Snatcher's _bloody_ hands all over her!"

Bill sighed. "Ron, hold it together. She's fine. You _have_ to believe that, because if you don't, you will go mad."

Ron sighed again, and his face turned into a sorrowful frown. "Bill, I'm already going mad. I have to find her. I have to—I have to make sure she's not—" He couldn't continue, because oppressed tears thickened his speech, and he turned his face away from Bill.

Sobs started to escape Bill's younger brother, and he couldn't help but to feel sad for the man that was still a little boy in his eyes. He sighed deeply and put a hand on his shoulder. "I know, mate, I know. Look, let's go back to bed, and we'll figure something out tomorrow, yeah?"

Ron looked at his big brother and nodded. "Yeah." His eyes were reddened, as was his face, but he had held back the tears. Together they went back up the stairs and Bill didn't return to his bedroom until he had made sure that Ron had returned to his and closed the door behind.

****.:{*}:.****

She woke up in a bed, and as she opened her eyes, she found herself inside the tent. She felt a second of panic before she realised it had all been a dream, and she sat up and brought a hand to her throat. But as she closed it softly around it in relief, that relief disappeared as she felt how it ached. No, no it couldn't be. She died. She knew she died in the dream. And if it hadn't been a dream, she wouldn't be in that bed. If she had survived, that Snatcher would have… he wouldn't have brought her here. She still remembered the feeling of his lips on hers, a dark and tantalizing feeling, and it sent shivers down her spine. Somehow, she couldn't help the tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach as she thought of it. No matter how much she disliked the man, he made something stir inside of her… if she had woken up in a bed if it hadn't been a dream, she wouldn't have woken up like this, she was sure of it. She was safe now. She was sitting in her bed, in her pyjamas, unharmed. No, it had to have been a dream. But why was her throat aching?

"Mornin' lovely," she heard and she gasped and turned. He was there. He was sitting there, in a chair in the corner, reading The Daily Prophet, with his legs crossed and his eyes on the papers and with a glass of firewhiskey on the small table next to him. He flipped pages as he spoke, "slept well?"

She couldn't speak. She breathed rapidly and pulled the cover up to her chin as to cover her up and reached for the wand.

"Now darlin', I wouldn' do tha'," he said and flipped pages again. "It's not there, but thank you for takin' good care of it while I was away."

Panic returned. She could feel how she began to tremble again, and she tightened her grip around the edge of the cover.

He sighed and put the papers away. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "You don' 'ave to be afraid, love. I won' 'urt you."

To this, Hermione found her voice to speak, because _that_, that just made her annoyed. "Won't hurt me?" she cried and stared at him, voice trembling. "You almost killed me, you dimwit!"

"Yeah, sorry 'bout tha'," he said. "I got a bit… carried away."

Hermione snorted. She simply couldn't believe it; there she was, wandless and exposed to that bloody Snatcher who'd almost killed her, and he had the nerve to tell her _not_ to be afraid? A smirk spread across his face as he eyed her as she sat there, frightened and fragile in the bed and she turned her eyes away from him and gripped her cover even tighter.

He chuckled nonchalantly and rose. "Well, I'll be a gent an' let you 'ave some privacy."

This made Hermione snort again. She was in her pyjamas, and as far as she knew, she wasn't in it before she blacked out. "Privacy?" she muttered. "So, that's only given to me while I'm awake then?"

His smirk was replaced by a stern face with eyes almost narrowed. "Then again, I could always sit down again an' enjoy the show." He sat back down on the chair and leaned back, his eyes not leaving her for a second.

For the first time since she woke up, she really truly feared the man. The eyes that were thoroughly observing her were cold and humiliating and filled with something she could only describe as anger and resentment mixed with smug and pleasure. He took a sip from his whiskey, still not taking his eyes off her.

She tugged the cover closer to her as she fought the redness on her cheeks.

"Wha' you watin' for, beautiful?" he asked, still with his eyes narrowed. "You know I've already seen it all."

Hermione swallowed and wrapped her arms around her to cover herself up. Her cheeks took an ever deeper shade of red. She actually preferred his smirk rather than that look upon his face.

"Perhaps you need a 'elpin' 'and, eh?" He took another sip of his whiskey. But there was still no smirk upon his lips. Why didn't he smirk? No, instead of the smirk, there was that stern, blank face and those piercing grey eyes.

"No, thank you," she whispered.

He sat silent for a second or two, with the exact same expression before he rose and looked down upon her. "Don' try my patience, love. I'll wait in the kitchen." He then left, and Hermione took a deep, trembling breath. She hugged the cover around herself and brought her knees to her chin. She then leaned her head against her knees, and cried.

**.:{*}:.**

He had been civil, had he not? He had given her a choice. He could have done a lot of things to her, that he didn't. Yes, he did go a bit too far by almost strangling her, but he said he was sorry. Yes, he could have simply put her to bed in the clothes she was wearing. He didn't have to undress her as slowly and cautiously as he had done. He didn't have to feel her soft skin underneath his fingers the way he did. But he didn't hurt her. He didn't rape her. He didn't leave her in the woods to die. He could have done it, but he didn't. And his intention was never to hurt her. _Well_… he wrinkled his forehead at this thought, because he couldn't honestly say that he hadn't thought of somehow violating the beautiful, fragile girl.

But no matter his thoughts, he had done nothing. And how did she repay him? With such ungratefulness. That made him angrier than he thought it would. Of course he did expect a bit of suspicion from her, but he figured that since she had taken care of him, she would be rather thankful for this favour. He sighed and took the teapot from the stove and put in on the table before he sat down by it in the small tent kitchen. It was a good thing he left when he did, because when he got a bad mood, he had no self-control. Hurting her would be very easy, and that would not exactly help him to earn her trust. He took his pocket-flask from his jacket and took a sip. He would need every possible means to be strong enough to refuse the urges to marsh right back in there and show that girl exactly why she should not anger him. He had all the aces now. He had two wands, she had none. He was far stronger than her, and faster, too. She had no chance of escaping him this time. However, for what he had planned for her, he reckoned she wouldn't want to run away.

It took another fifteen minutes before he heard her cautions steps lead into the kitchen, and she stopped by the entrance, looking at him with her arms wrapped around herself. She looked frightened yet determined. Her eyes were a bit swollen; she'd been crying. But she still looked as if she wanted answers, and if necessary, a fight. He smirked. _Such a Gryffindor_.

"See?" he said and leaned back in the chair. "Told you I'd give you some privacy."

"What do you want with me?" she asked,

He scratched his chin as he eyed her. She stared at him, with fear and intensity. He then sighed. "Sit down an' I'll tell you."

But she didn't sit. She just stared at him with disdain in her eyes.

"Wha' else are you gonna do then, eh? Run an' see 'ow far you get?" He then laughed.

She finally did as told, though very reluctantly.

"I've made you some tea." He nodded towards the teapot.

She gave it a glare, but then looked back at him.

He laughed. "Don' worry, it's not poison in it, if tha's wha' you thought."

"Give me a reason to trust you."

He sighed and leaned forwards, towards her. "Swee'heart, if I wanted you dead, I would 'ave killed you by now. I've 'ad my opportunities, an' plenty of 'em."

She didn't reply but clenched her jaw.

"Very well," he said as he took his wand and conjured a cup in front of her. He then filled her cup with the tea and leaned back in the chair. "You don' 'ave to drink it if you don' like."

"Why did you keep me alive?" She looked down on the table as she spoke.

"Do I 'ave a reason to kill you?" Scabior raised an eyebrow. He thought she was clever enough to figure that much out herself.

She looked up with questioning eyes. "I stole your wand."

"You did," he nodded. "An' I'm mad at you for tha'." He then shook his head. "But not enough to kill you." He then smirked. "No, I've got bigger plans for you, my lovely." And yes, he had plans. Even though he planned them during the night, he had plans.

"Plans?" she whispered terrified.

"If you 'elp me, I'll 'elp you." He looked at her, and once again she looked bewildered.

"Help me with what?"

"You wanna save your friends, now don' ya?" He knew he had caught her attention by mentioning her friends.

She nodded slowly. "I can't get them out of Malfoy Manor."

"I can 'elp you with tha'." He wanted to jump and dance in relief; she didn't know they had escaped. If she did, she would find it much easier to find them on her own. Now when she_ needed_ his help, everything would be much easier. "If you 'elp me get a hold on Greyback an' 'is gang."

"Why do you need me for that, I thought you were on the same side?"

He laughed. "Love, I'm a mercenary; I've got me own side." But he understood why she wondered. "They wanted me dead. I don' take tha' lightly, an' I will 'ave my revenge. But I need to find 'em first. Tha's when you come into the picture; they're after you, love." He had only put the pieces together himself, and he had no idea whether or not he was right, but it would be typical both Death Eaters and Snatchers if they played upon the weaknesses of their victims. If they had Granger, that meant they had excellent bait for Potter and Weasley. Well, now it so happened, that Scabior himself had the perfect bait for Greyback; Miss Hermione Granger.

"So, you want to use me to lure them in?" she asked. There was a trace of submission in her voice. She had understood it all; she had no chance to get away. She was trapped. Her only chance of survival was to do what he said.

"Yes."

She looked devastated, as if her own judgement day was coming.

"Don' worry, love," he chuckled. "I promise I will make sure no one will 'arm you."

"Why should I trust you?" She spoke quietly. "How will I know you won't turn me in the first chance you get?"

"If I wanted to turn you in," he said, rather tired of this conversation, "I would 'ave. However, as is 'appens, I 'aven't." He sighed. "Granger, you 'ave a choice; either you trust me or you don'. Now I don' care which, but it would be easier if you decided to trust me. An', just to make things clear; don' mess with me, because I could get real mad."

"You would probably be handsomely rewarded if you turned me in."

He sighed again and crossed his arms over his chest. The pine wand was firmly stationed in his right hand. "Beautiful, I'm in a limbo. I don' belong nowhere. If I go back to the Ministry, they'll kill me. Why? 'Cause Greyback kisses Death Eater-arse, an' at this very moment, Greyback an' I aren' exactly the best of friends. So, if I turn you in, they'll just take you an' kill me. Now, tha's not fair, now innit?"

"Why would you help me then? How can I be sure that you won't just… do whatever you want with me when I've done my part?"

"You can't," he said honestly. "But at this very moment, to believe it's not gonna end tha' way is your best shot." She looked away from him and he sighed. Of course he understood she wouldn't trust him. Nothing was that simple. He had to earn it. "Look, it doesn' matter how you twist an' turn it, you still won' get into Malfoy Manor without my 'elp."

She still didn't look at him, but he looked at her. She was so sorrowful, so blue and yet so beautiful. He knew it was terribly wrong to think of her that way, given her age, but he just couldn't help himself. And she still smelled of the sweet perfume that had first caught him in her web. Perhaps it was wise of her not to trust him just yet; he didn't even know if _he_ could trust himself around her. It had taken all of his self-discipline not to do anything while he had the chance, and he didn't know if he would be so lucky again. Well, if _she_ would be so lucky again…

She suddenly looked up, and her intense brown eyes almost gave him chills. "What do you want me to do?"

"First things first, love," he said and rose. She drew back in her chair, away from him, and gasped. He smirked and stopped the motion to look at her. "Don' worry, I won' eat you!" He then straightened and looked around. "We'd better pack. We're goin' to visit a friend of mine."

**.:{*}:.**

She felt her heart fall like a rock in her chest, and she felt completely numb. She lost. She had lost. She had no wand, and the man that was looking down upon her was much stronger than her, and much faster, but the most frightening thing was that _he_ had a wand. In fact, he had _two_. There was no point in fighting anymore, because no matter what she did, he would win. She even felt like she didn't have to choose anymore; the other options were much worse. This "agreement" would at least keep her alive. For how long, though, she did not know. If he would keep his part of the deal, he would help her get into Malfoy Manor. However, he never said what would happen afterwards. She had no idea what kind of bargain she got herself into, but she knew that at this very moment, it was her best chance of survival.

She rose too, and established that he was at least a head taller than her. His grey eyes looked very smug and superior as that smirk spread across his face again.

"Now," he said, "where d'you keep this tent?"

"I my bag." She spoke quietly and pointed at the beaded handbag that was lying on a chair.

He raised an eyebrow and looked at the small handbag. "In _that_ bag?"

She nodded.

He looked rather impressed. "You _are_ clever. Oh well." He then raised his wand and cast a spell Hermione did not recognise, and the tent started to fold itself, even though they were still inside of it. She felt the carped she was standing on swiftly disappear beneath her, and before she knew it, the whole tent was packed inside her beaded handbag. She looked around, and there it was, her escape; a perfectly smooth path leading through the trees towards freedom. But she would have to let that go. She would have to let the path that looked so tempting, go. She would never be able to run. The Snatcher wouldn't even have to bother using the wand. She was a poor runner, and he had such long strides, he would easily catch up with her. She knew how fast he was, because she had been running for her life, away from him, before. With a sigh of submission she looked at him. "Where are we going?"

"I told you," he said. "To a friend of mine."

"A friend of yours?" That worried her. A man like Scabior would probably not have the nicest of friends.

He rolled his eyes. "It's a woman, if tha' makes it feel any better?"

She snorted silently to herself. "No, it doesn't."

He clenched his jaw. "You're a clever girl, righ'? Then I bet you've 'eard of Valerie McKinley."

Hermione didn't really understand. She had heard of Valerie McKinley. Mr Weasley had mentioned her once as one of the best Tracker the Ministry had ever had. Was she befriended with a man like Scabior? "But… she worked at the Ministry."

Scabior gave a laugh. "Yeah, she _worked_ at the Ministry, up until about five years ago when she was cast out for 'elpin' the Death Eaters with some stuff. Now she's livin' in Edinburgh. _Muggle_ Edinburgh."

Hermione was sceptic. Was he telling her the truth or was he lying? She had no idea. He reached out his hand for her to take, and she looked at it, not wanting to touch it.

"C'mon," he urged. "We don' 'ave all day."

She still didn't want to trust him. She didn't want to give in.

"Swee'heart." His voice was soft and low while he spoke. "I'm not gonna 'urt you." There was something different in his eyes, too; he was tired of this. He knew he was in charge, and he was sick and tired of her fighting him. That frightened her. Hesitantly she reached to place her hand in his. It was calloused and weathered, and as he closed it around hers, strange warmth spread through her arm, and for the first time in a long time, she felt somehow safe though scared to death. "Hold on now, lovely."

The familiar sensation of a hook pulling her stomach hit her, and all the colours whirled into one massive blur.

**.:{*}:.**

Valerie McKinley wasn't picky and had never been. She had learnt to adapt wherever she went. Her parents were sent to Azkaban for practicing illegal Druid magic, and she had to go and stay with her aunt. To that, she adapted. When she started Hogwarts, and was sorted into Slytherin, she adapted. When she graduated and had nowhere to go, she adapted. When she got mixed into some bad business, she adapted. When she was kicked out of the Wizarding community for simply getting food in her belly and roof over her head, she adapted. But now, as she spun the wand in her hand, she found it ridiculously hard to adapt. She hadn't held a wand in her hand for five year, and for some reason, she had enjoyed it. The Muggle way of doing things were much tougher, yes, and much slower, but it was much more honest. It was the way things were supposed to be done. But despite her feelings towards the Muggle world, she still couldn't suppress the wonderful feeling of familiarity and power as she held the magical piece of wood in her hand. It was Oak. Around eight inches. She didn't know what it contained, but she would guess it contained a dragon heartstring. It was a typical British wand, she knew that much. But at least it was made of Oak, and she could feel the warmth of the sacred tree all the way to her core. It was nothing like her ash wand, though. She sighed heavily as she placed the wand carefully in front of her on the table. What had she gotten herself into, really? Killing Greyback? Was she mad? She couldn't kill Fenrir. He couldn't be the one who rattled her out. He simply couldn't. No, that couldn't be right. He would never do that to her. He would never hurt her like that. Would he? She brought her hand to one of her necklaces. It was the one Fenrir had given her once, as a Christmas gift. If was a beautiful Celtic cross in pure silver. She held the hanging tightly in her hand and closer her eyes. She saw him; his piercing, wolfish blue eyes, his tangled dark brown hair, the beard covered chin and that dark, deep voice of his. She wished she had seen him last night when she helped Scabior, but they had been too far away for her to really see him. She had only heard them. But she knew he wasn't the same. He would never be the same.

A loud knock on the door sent her flying from her seat. She gripped the wand tightly and aimed it at the door. "Who's there?"

"_Oh, for Merlin's sake, Val!_" It was Scabior. "_Open up!_"

She sighed heavily and made her way to the door. When she opened it, Scabior wasn't alone; he was holding a girl tightly by her upper arm, and she looked beaten down. She looked like if her will to live had faded. Valerie gasped loudly. "Scabior!" She let them in, and immediately made him let go of the girl's arm. "What are ye doin', ye shoddy bastard?" While Scabior looked surprised and a bit offended, the girl looked petrified. "Who's she?"

"This, my sweet Valerie, is our key to gettin' Greyback righ' where we want 'im," Scabior said with that usual, mischievous smirk of his. "This is – now, 'old on to somethin' – _Hermione Granger_."

Valerie stood speechless. Was he mad? Yes, obviously. "Hermione Granger, the _Muggleborn_?"

Scabior nodded.

"Are ye out of yer mind?" Valerie shouted. "How could ye take her here? To the big city? She's wanted, for Merlin's sake!"

"Calm down, Val!" Scabior said and lowered his hands as a sign for her to lower her voice. "I've got it all planned."

"It all planned?" she asked. She was sick of his "plans" because they usually meant doing something strictly illegal. "Sure, ye've got yer masterplan, 'aven't ye?"

Scabior clenched his jaw. She sensed he knew she didn't like these things.

She sighed and turned to the frightened girl, Hermione Granger. "I'm sorry, love. Ye must be tired. There's a bed in the other room if ye'd like to sleep for a while. If ye'd like to take a shower, the bathroom is just in there." The girl didn't appear less frightened, though. "Ye must be hungry! I'll make ye some dinner." She smiled and reached her hand out for the girl. Reluctantly, but somewhat eager to trust, Hermione Granger gripped the hand. Valerie brought her other hand to the girl's shoulder and then she looked at Scabior. "And you! Hands off!"

Scabior raised his eyebrows. "Wha'?"

"Don't think I don't know ye," Val muttered as she lead the girl into her living-room and offered her a seat in the sofa. "Now, ye tell me if there's anything ye need, okay?"

She nodded.

Valerie smiled. She felt genuinely sorry for the poor girl. How much she must have been through. "I'm Valerie. Don't worry, love. Yer safe now."


	8. Insidious

**A/N:** Alright.. it's like.. halv past four in the morning over here, and I just finished this chapter. To be honest, I don't really know how I feel about it.. the characters surprised me a bit. Well, Scabior did, as always. Anyway, because of this chapter, I decided to change rating due to some questionable graphic. And now it's time for me to stop babbling. Here's chapter seven!

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Perfume<strong>_

**Chapter Seven**_  
>Insidious<em>

Hermione had gotten herself a hearty meal, a warm shower and a couple of hours of sleep in a comfortable bed. When she woke up, she felt more alive and motivated than in a long time. She looked at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. She had to somehow process the small detail that it was a _digital _clock. She was after all in a pureblooded witch's home, a Slytherin's home. But, Hermione couldn't really see Valerie as a Slytherin, because she was everything Slytherins weren't in Hermione's head. Valerie was kind, tolerant and just. So far, Hermione hadn't met one Slytherin with those qualities.

It was half past eight in the evening, and Hermione rose to a sitting position. She hesitated before she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and landed softly on the rough wooden floor. She walked carefully to the door, but just as she was about to open it, she heard the other two talk in the kitchen.

"_And what are ye plannin' on doing next then? When ye've had yer revenge? Do ye think the Ministry will come crawling back on their knees?" _Valerie sighed._ "Be honest now, Scab_," she said, "_why is she here?_"

"_Wha' you mean?_" Scabior asked. "_I've told you everythin'_."

"_Yeah, I know, but why is she here?_" There was an awkward silence. "_Why her? Ye and I could have found Greyback ourselves, and that would have been easier_." Another silence. "_She's a human being, Scabior, whether ye think so or not. She doesn't deserve yer sinister games. Ye've broken others before._"

Scabior gave a dark chuckle. "_Who said I was gonna break 'er?_"

"_I know ye, Scab. Ye can't resist a wee treat now and then, can ye?_" she said, drained with seriousness, followed by another silence.

"_Don' stray from wha' we're supposed to do 'ere, Val,_" Scabior said darkly. "_She's a par' of it, whether _you_ think so or not. Everythin' around is unimportant._"

"_Fine_," she said. "_Will ye promise me one thing then_?"

"_Wha'_?"

"_Be kind."_

He snorted and let out a laugh. "_Kind? Am I not _kind?"

"_It's not a joke_, _Scabior_."

Another silence. Then he sighed heavily, and Hermione could hear a chair drag against a floor, and Hermione gasped and took a step back. Was he coming to get her? "_I can' believe this. Is tha' wha' you think of me? She's a Mudblood for Merlin's sake! Why would I wanna do anythin' with 'er?_"

"_C'mon, Scab! I know ye, an' so do you. All that talk about pure blood… it's not you! Ye don' care, not a wee bit!" _She sighed. "_Just promise me ye'll be kind, and be done with it!_"

"_I don' 'ave to promise nothin' to you. I need a drink,_" he muttered and walked towards the room where Hermione resided. She froze, but he walked past the door and towards the front door. "_Don' let 'er out of your sigh'. I'll be back by mornin'._"

"_Ye know, I do have a job to go to!_" Valerie shouted as he slammed the door shut behind him, and then she sighed annoyed. "_Shoddy southern bastard!_"

Hermione waited a couple of minutes before she even dared to open the door and sneak out through the hall and into the kitchen. Valerie was sitting by the table with her head leaning on her one hand, looking out the window over Edinburgh. The light from the window lamp gave her handsome face a somewhat ghostly light, and her scarlet hair shone almost mahogany in the damp darkness. She held something in her other hand, something silvery. Hermione carefully harrumphed, and even though it was exactly what Hermione wanted to avoid, it startled Valerie. She looked up.

"Oh, sorry, love, I didn't see ye!" she said. "How're ye feeling?"

"I'm fine," Hermione said with and iffy smile. "Thank you for everything. I'm very grateful."

"Don't mention it," Valerie muttered. She sighed and smiled. "Ye're not the first of Scabior's _treats_ I've tended to."

Hermione chewed on the word. _Treat_. So that was Scabior's intention, then? To use her? Or perhaps Harry had been right, and Scabior really was a werewolf, and she was supper. She shuddered at the thought.

Valerie suddenly laughed. "I didn't mean it like that, love. Don't look so frightened. Come, take a seat."

Hermione sat down in front of her. There was something nagging inside of her head, something that told her to calm down, be safe. But she couldn't. To trust a Slytherin was against everything she stood for. But her head kept telling her that trusting Valerie would not be a mistake.

Valerie took a deep breath. "I just wanna know; is it true that he hasn't done anything to ye? Anythin' _besides_ almost strangling ye? And don't worry, I gave him a good scolding for tha'."

Hermione had to be honest. "As far as I know, it's true…" It frightened her that she had no idea what he had done after she had fainted. He could have done anything to her. But she wasn't bruised anywhere, and she wasn't sore anywhere. If he had done anything, she reckoned it would at least show somehow.

Valerie looked surprised and knitted her eyebrows. "Huh… perhaps I was a bit hard on him, then." She then shrugged her shoulders and rose. "Oh well, he could use a bit of scolding from time to time." She made her way to the kitchen counters and started pouring water into an electric kettle. "I'm making some tea, ye'd like some?"

"Yes, please," Hermione said quietly.

"Alright, two minutes will do the trick," Valerie said and pressed the button and then sat down again. She smiled. "So, Hermione Granger… tell me a bit about yerself. I don' know anythin'!"

"There isn't much to tell," Hermione said. "I should have gone my seventh year at Hogwarts, but… well, obviously I'm not there."

Valerie nodded. "I know the feeling." She bit her lip and knitted her brows again. "Ye really miss yer friends, don't ye?"

Hermione looked at her. She didn't know what to make of it; was it a sneer remark, or was it a sympathetic question? Without losing too much face she replied, "I do."

"Well," Valerie said and grabbed one of her necklaces. "Scabior always keeps his promises. However," she looked at her with a most serious look, "ye'd better be careful, love. If ye strike a deal with him, it's like striking a deal with the Devil. Ye need to be fully aware of what the bargain includes, in every wee detail. Otherwise, he'll find ways of gettin' whatever he wants. What ye give is what ye get. No more, no less, so make sure ye cover everything in ye terms." She looked out the window. "He's like a sodding Goblin."

Hermione swallowed. She knew she would regret trusting the Snatcher. Valerie played with her necklace; a Celtic silver cross. She had another necklace, too; a silver Celtic trinity. Hermione looked around. Most things she saw were somehow connected to the Celts. On one of the walls, a big embroidered piece of fabric hung with the words "_Deep peace of the quiet Earth to you_" which she knew was an outtake from an ancient Celtic prayer she had once read about. Hermione continued looking. Wax candles were put all around the flat, and melted wax had made formations on the sides of the candles. A big Celtic symbol Hermione didn't recognise was drawn on the wooden floor, and it was surrounded by jars of different contents. Hermione knitted her eyebrows. "What's that symbol?"

"Oh, it's the Celtic sacred symbol of Protection," Valerie said.

"That's what I thought," Hermione mumbled. "Are you particularly interested in the Celts?"

"I _am_ a Celt, love," Valerie smiled. "Well, my ancestors were the real deal, at least."

Hermione's brain worked in mysterious ways, and within seconds, she hand understood how it all fitted. "You're a… you're a Druid?"

Valerie's eyes changed, and Hermione didn't know how to interpret it. Was it good or was it bad? "Yes," Valerie suddenly said. She then narrowed her eyes and knitted her brows. "Why, does it show?"

Hermione shook her head rapidly. "No! No, I just… put it all together, given your ancestry and interior…" Her words faded out into nothingness, and she knew she had said all too much. Perhaps Valerie was nice as long as she felt for it?

But she smiled. "You _are_ clever! Scabior warned me. Well yes, I am a Druid. In fact, I reckon I have the oldest bloodline in all of Wizarding Britain. It goes _way_ back."

"I've only read about the Celts," Hermione admitted. "Their magic was forbidden by Wizarding Law."

Valerie snorted. "They know nothing. They don't even know what Druid magic _is_."

"What is it then?"

"It's blood magic," Valerie said. "It's something ye can never learn, ye have to be born with it, like any other magic. If ye banish Druid magic, then ye have to banish any other magic, too! The Goblins and the Elves wouldn't be too happy 'bout that now, would they?"

Hermione smiled. "No."

"Oh well, I couldn't care less to be honest," Valerie said and shrugged. "As long as I'm careful, no one will notice. My parents though… they had a different attitude. They hated that their magic was forbidden, so they used it to do… well, not very good things." She rose to turn off the kettle, and poured the water into two large cups. "Earl Grey or peppermint?"

"Earl Grey," Hermione answered. "But what do you mean 'not very good things'?"

"Ever heard of Bran and Isla McKinley?" Valerie asked and raised her eyebrows as she turned to place Hermione's cup of tea in front of her. "Ye should know, comin' from a Muggle family and all."

"The notorious All Hallows' Eve Killers?" Hermione breathed. It was a world-spread tragedy, in the Wizarding World as well as the Muggle world.

"Aye, the notorious All Hallows' Eve Killers," Valerie said and nodded whilst sitting down again. The ghost of an ironic smile spread across her lips. "On October 31, 1972, eight good friends died in a fire in London; six Muggles, one witch and one wizard. They were celebrating Halloween and havin' a genuinely good time when two strangers walked into the building; one man and one woman. The strangers were dressed in white robes with large hoods, looking like some sort of ancient monks. They chanted something unknown as they cornered the eight people, sealing any possible exit. They drew a circle around the witch and the wizard with a mixture of white ash from a sacred Ash tree and St. John's Wart, preventing them from using magic within that line. They then bound the two against a pillar and poured gasoline on their feet. They conjured a fire on the drawn circle, and let it spread towards the witch and the wizard as they left the building. None of the eight friends got out, and the only remains left to find was the burnt corpses of eight people, whereas two was bound by a pillar in a mysterious white circle. Whether or not it was arson was never even mentioned. It was all too obvious."

Hermione had read about it before, and it had been classified as one of London's modern history's most gruesome murders. That a witch and a wizard had been one of the victims had never been revealed before. "I… I thought it was only Muggles involved?"

"That's because the Ministry decided that it would be best to silence it," Valerie said and shrugged. "A wee bit sad, that no witch or wizard ever knew how dangerous we Druids could be. They were terrified when they found the remains of the witch and the wizard in that fashion, exhibited as the witch-trials in the seventeenth century. When they saw the circle, they knew it was Druid magic, and my parents were on the top of their list. They had never kept quiet about their discontentment concerning their banishment. They didn't deny the deed either. It was a swift trial and they were sent to Azkaban for the rest of their lives. When I, a seven year old lass, was sent to my aunt in Ayr, that problem was out of the way, too. No one ever knew about it. The last Druid threat was exterminated. Or so they thought… " She laughed darkly and took a sip of her tea.

Hermione was dumbfounded. She never would have guessed… she looked at Valerie from a different angle now; there was more to this woman than met the eye. Did she hold an eventually dangerous grudge against the Wizarding World? Did Hermione have a reason to fear her? She had heard the story of the All Hallows' Eve Killers before, seen several documentaries about it on the telly, but she had never heard it this way, retailed with such disdain yet admiration. Once again, Hermione noticed her playing with one of her necklaces. "What are those necklaces?"

"These?" Valerie asked and held them up. "Oh, this one is the symbol of the Celtic trinity, and this one is a Celtic cross."

"What do you use them for?"

"The trinity gives me strength from the elements around me," Valerie said. "And this one," she smiled faintly, "this one was given to me from someone." For a moment she was lost in thought.

"From who?" She didn't meant to be nosey, but she couldn't help herself.

Valerie shook her head. "Someone I knew a long time ago."

Hermione nodded and took a sip of her tea. Thirty minutes earlier she had only reflected upon how nice Valerie was and how surprising that was. It never struck her that this woman might have had her share of hard times in her life. But now, Hermione felt as if this woman had gone through much more than she could ever imagine.

**.:{*}:.**

"Oi!" Scabior roared. "Anov'er one!" He didn't know how many of those bloody whiskeys he'd had, but one thing was clear, and that was that true scotch was the best substitute for firewhiskey. However, at this very moment, he knew he had taken one too many and shouldn't drink anymore. Even Scabior had his limitation. Nevertheless, he would have at least one more.

The waitress came to take his order, though very reluctantly, and to his great disappointment it wasn't one of those younger, fit ones, but a big, sturdy woman in her late forties. "I think ye've had a wee bit too much there now, sonny."

"Love, as long as you get ya bread n' 'oney i's all fine now, innit?" he spluttered. Then he grabbed the woman's arm and sighed. "I need anov'er, love! I ain' gettin' noffin' tonigh'! No Irish luck for this wild rover! Me Adam's will stay on for the 'ole bloody nigh'! Tha's fuckin' depressin', tha' is! You know the feelin', dontcha?"

"O, don't even go there, son," the woman growled and pulled her arms out of his grip. "Ye can take yer sodding money and get the bloody hell out of me pub, ye bloody southern bastard!"

A forceful hand, way too forceful for being a woman's hand, according to Scabior, grabbed his arm and dragged him up. The waitress then dragged him out, and literally threw him out of the pub. He stood up as fast as he'd hit the ground. "Oh, come on! I's tha' the best you could do?" he shouted after her as she closed the pub door. Drunken Muggles were laughing at him, and he glanced at them while he dusted himself off so that he wouldn't lose too much dignity. He had his wand. He could easily kill them all. But he knew where that lead, and he didn't want to go down that path once again. Even though killing that bloody, ugly, bold bastard that stood by the corner, laughing and pointing at him, was very tempting. But Scabior managed to hold himself together and made his way back towards Valerie. He's walk wasn't the best by now, and neither was his sight, but he staggered along the cobbled streets, muttering to himself that he was _kind_. Of course he was kind! He brought that bloody Mudblood to Valerie, knowing how Valerie always tended to such weak, frightened girls, like some kind of saint, now, didn't he? "Fuckin' _saint_!" No, she wasn't going to boss him over. No way! If he wanted that Mudblood for himself, he would have her for himself, because he always got what he wanted.

**.:{*}:.**

It was far past midnight. Hermione lay in Valerie's bed again, after Valerie herself had insisted on sleeping on the couch. She looked up at the ceiling. Thoughts were flying through her head like wild pixies, and she tried to process everything. No matter how nice Valerie was, Scabior was still a problem. He wasn't trustworthy, even his best friend admitted that, if that's what Valerie was. Hermione needed to get away. Bargain or not, she needed to find another way of getting into Malfoy Manor. Well, first off, she needed to _find_ Malfoy Manor. She had to wait until Valerie had fallen asleep. Hermione had seen her wand lying on the kitchen counter, as if Valerie didn't even want it. If Hermione could get a hold of it while Valerie was asleep, and if she could get out before Scabior came back, she would be on her way again. She looked at the clock. It was half past one in the morning. She still didn't know if Valerie had fallen asleep, but she didn't dare go looking. And the longer she waited, the greater the risk would be that Scabior would return before she could manage to escape. She took a deep breath before she made her decision. She would much rather face Valerie and give an excuse than face Scabior. She slid out of the bed and tiptoed towards the door. She pressed her ear against it and listened. She couldn't hear anything. Slowly, she turned the doorknob and the door opened. She waited a second or two before she left the room, to make sure there was no reaction from Valerie. When everything was clear, she tiptoed out to the hall and into the living-room. Valerie was fast asleep in the sofa that seemed too small for her. Hermione snuck past her and into the kitchen. It was dark, and she had to feel her way to the counter. The wand wasn't there. She sighed heavily. She was so sure it would be there! The whole time Hermione had been in that flat, the wand had been lying there, untouched. But now, it was done. She had to give up and go bad to bed. She wouldn't escape tonight.

Just as she was about to open the door to the bedroom though, the handle on the front door turned, and Scabior entered, reeking of alcohol. Hermione froze. She couldn't move. Scabior met her petrified gaze, and after a second or so, a smirk spread in his face, and at that second, Hermione could move again. She was just about to say his name out loud, loud enough for Valerie to wake up, but with one single flick of his wand, Scabior had silenced her. She staggered backwards as he advanced towards her, but he caught her by the arm and pulled her close to him.

"'Ello there, beau'iful," he breathed, his accent thicker than usual, his face only inches away from hers.

Hermione tried to fight him, but his grip was so tight, there was nothing she could do.

"Oh, don' be like tha', swee'art!" he murmured with a smirk. "Why don' you an' I go into the bedroom an' 'ave a bi' o' fun, eh?"

If Hermione could scream, she would, but she couldn't. She fought him all she could as he grabbed her hair and dragged her into the bedroom, but his brute strength took her by surprise, and she landed on the flood by the bed as he tossed her in. As the door closed behind her, she heard him mutter different charms, some she recognised, and some she didn't. Her heart was racing. What was she supposed to do now? He was clearly intoxicated, but no matter how slurry his speech was, or how much he swayed as he walked, he could still pronounce the spells perfectly. He could even cast such advanced spells, Hermione hadn't even heard of them before, and all that even though he was gravely intoxicated. She looked around for anything she could use as a weapon, but there was nothing. The digital clock, but it was too far away; she would never have time to get it before he grabbed her.

"Alrigh'," he laughed smugly and turned. "Now you can scream as much as you want, lovely." Another flick of the wand, and Hermione felt how sounds could finally escape her mouth.

"Please!" she pleaded as she crawled backwards away from him. "Please, don't—"

"Don' try me, Granger!" he growled as he pulled her up from the floor by her arm. He held it so tightly, she was sure it would leave a nasty bruise. "I'm not in the mood for tha' righ' now." He started her down with his piercing eyes before he clashed his lips onto hers in a rough kiss. He worked his lips against hers, and the taste of alcohol transferred into her mouth, and she tried to yank her head away from him. When that didn't work, she went for plan B. She had no idea if it would work, or if she was simply mad, but she answered his kiss and forced herself closer to him. It was a curious feeling; a strange but fine mixture of fear, panic, disdain and pleasure. He drove his tongue into her mouth, and she let him. But her plan was not finished yet. She had to have the exact right timing for this to work, and as if some higher power had heard her silent prayers, the Snatcher's lower lip landed between hers, and she bit down hard, drawing blood from it. He broke the kiss and stared at her in bewilderment. Anger shot though his steel eyes as he grabbed her chin roughly. "You li'le bitch!"

She gasped in pain as he pushed her head backwards, knocking her off balance and making her fall onto the bed. He climbed on top of her, straddling her with his long legs. He locked her hands above her head with his one hand as he conjured roped to tie her hands to the headboard.

"Please!" she breathed, feeling how tears flooded her eyes and panic filled her chest. She tugged and pulled with her arms, using her whole body underneath him, trying to get out of the ropes, but they were holding her too tightly. Sobs started to escape her as she felt him pull her sweater, ripping it in halves. He removed his leather jacket and threw it onto the floor.

"Now, now, swee'ie," he sneered. "Le's 'ave some fun, you an' I." He placed his lips on her neck whilst his hand landed on the fly of her jeans.

Hermione fought him all she could, moving her hips so that it would be too difficult for him to unzip her pants, but he grabbed her hip and pushed it down. He rose to a sitting position on top of her, so that it would be impossible for her to move while he unzipped her jeans and pulled them off.

"No!" she shrieked, but he didn't seem to notice.

With a flick of the wand, Hermione's torn sweater was off of her, and lying on the floor together with her jeans. He then started to undress himself, removing both the brown, shabby vest and the scarlet, noble shirt and threw the pieces of clothing on the floor. He looked at her with a smirk. "Oh, love, 'ow I will fuck you tonigh'!"

"No, please, don't!" Hermione sobbed as she tried to twist her way out of the roped, but it was useless. "I beg you! _Please_!" She had blushed, and a small part of her had somehow died. She knew it was no point in even trying anymore. But she wouldn't give up.

He fiddled with his plaid pants, and Hermione closed her eyes and wished that she would just be far, far away. She let the tears fall; why bother stopping them? Her whole body was trembling, and her sobs echoed in her chest. She could feel his full weight on top of her as he parted her legs to fit better against her. She felt his lips at her ear.

"Open your eyes, beau'iful," he murmured as he covered her breasts with his hands. "I don' want you to miss the fun."

Hermione shut her eyes even tighter. She refused to give in. She would fight him to the very end. She felt him pulling at her bra, and the tip of his wand touched the skin between her breasts lightly, and coldness spread across her chest. Her bra was gone. He laughed against her neck as he massaged her breasts rather violently.

"Tell me, love," he said, "are you a virgin? 'Ave I snatched meself a virgin now, eh?"

Cries were the only thing escaping her mouth at this very moment, and she still kept her eyes shut. She knew where this would lead, and her only chance to get though it was to pretend she was somewhere else. Somewhere nice. Even though the situation made it practically impossible, she might even try to pretend Scabior was in fact Ron.

She felt a hand between her legs, pulling her knickers aside, and she whimpered in fear and in humiliation. She was afraid of what it might feel like, and the humiliation would be complete if it turned out that it felt good. But even if it did, Hermione would never want to admit it to herself. So, she would deny him. She would deny him to the very end. Was there anyone who could save her now? Valerie. Where was Valerie? Her protector? She was sleeping soundly in the other room, unaware of the horror that took place in this room.

Scabior kissed her body, nibbled at her skin, teasing and biting, scratching and bruising. He pushed her legs further apart and entered her, again and again, and the painful and devastated cries kept escaping Hermione's mouth and the tears kept on falling down her cheeks, over the redness, over the shame.


	9. Repentance

**A/N:** Well, that went well :O I did not expect to finish this chapter that fast.. anyway, I glad as long as I have my flow :) Thank you all for all the comments! It's very appreciated! :D Without further words, here's chapter eight!

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Perfume<strong>_

**Chapter Eight**_  
>Repentance<em>

"_Would the accused please rise?"_

_She stands up in her booth, her hands cuffed. _

"_Valerie McKinley, testimonies has been given of your involvement with Death Eaters. On the twelfth of November last year you were seen participating in an attempt to bring back He Who Must Not Be Named using Druid magic. Do you deny this?"_

"_May I ask who has given these _testimonies_?" she asks. _

"_That is not relevant. Do you deny it?" _

"_No."_

_The courtroom gasps and several rise to shout things at her, such as "Let her rot in Azkaban" and "Dementor's Kiss! Dementor's Kiss!" She does not care. She keeps her head high as the judge is looking at her._

"_So, you admit your attempt of bringing back the Dark Lord by using prohibited magic?"_

"_They paid me well."_

_The judge looks frustrated. _"_Valerie McKinley, I hereby sentence you to a lifetime of limitations. Your wand shall be destroyed and you shall be sent to the Muggle world. If you ever set a foot in any part of the Wizarding World around the globe again, you will face a Dementor's Kiss." He strikes the hammer on the table, and the sentence is final, and cheers are heard from the audience. _

_Valerie bites down hard, trying not to show any emotions. She looks around, and suddenly she sees a wolf in the audience; a great, grey wolf with a pair of blue, piercing, taunting eyes…_

She opened her eyes and stared up at the tobacco-stained ceiling of her living-room. His eyes still lingered on her retina, and she wished to Merlin that Scabior never mentioned anything about that. Now when she came to think of it; where was he? She looked at the clock on the wall. It was half past five in the morning. Time for her to get up. She had an hour until she started her part time job. She rose from the sofa. Her back hurt and so did her legs and her joints popped as she stretched and yawned. Scabior wasn't in any of the armchairs, sleeping like a baby, and Valerie proceeded into the hall. His shoes weren't there, and his jacket wasn't on the hanger. She raised a brow and shook her head. Of course he wasn't back yet. When was he ever back when he said he would be? She shook her head as she walked into the kitchen to make some coffee. She tried to be as silent as possible. The Granger girl was sleeping soundly in her bedroom, and she didn't want to wake her. It was probably the first real good night sleep she'd had in a long time.

She hurried on with her breakfast before she went into the bathroom to freshen up a bit. She looked tired with dark circled under her eyes. She had had a restless sleep. Strange dreams had haunted her. At some point she woke up and thought she saw a shadow looking at her, afraid that it had been Greyback, but she had fallen asleep again just as fast, continuing on with her strange dreams. Various dreams of Greyback had haunted her. The whole night, and when she came to think of it, the whole previous night, too, had been disturbed by dreams of her own personal demon in the form of a wolf.

As she looked herself in the mirror, she clenched her jaw. It was the necklace. It was a reason she hadn't worn it since she was sentenced. It was far too personal, and reminded her every day, both physically and spiritually of the life she had to leave behind. She took it off and hung it on the same spot where it had hung for the last five years. She gave it one last glance before she left the bathroom, but her shoes and jacket on and left the apartment. To be certain that the girl wouldn't escape – she wouldn't mind, but Scabior would be terribly angry – she cast several spells that trapped the girl. To use the wand again felt both good and terrifying at the same time. But she would adapt, in time.

**.:{*}:.**

His head hurt. It hurt as if a bloody Blugder had hit him. He groaned as he opened his eyes. He saw a nightstand, a digital clock, his wand and a wall. Where was he? Another two seconds, and he established that he was in Valerie's bedroom. He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. Too much. He had had far too much to drink last night. He couldn't even remember how he got into the flat in the first place. But the least understandable, really, was that Valerie had allowed him to sleep in the same bed as her. He turned to ask her how he got back last night and what time, but as he turned he discovered that the other side of the bed wasn't occupied by Valerie at all, because beside him lay none other than Hermione Granger, tied, naked and shivering. He didn't understand, but he didn't exactly complain. Only thing he was a bit disappointed at was that he couldn't remember any of it. She wasn't asleep. She stared up at the ceiling and her jaw was shut tightly. "Well," he said, and the surprise in his voice was not exactly planned. He let his eyes sweep across her naked body, and one corner of his lips curled into a smile. "'Ere I was, thinkin' I 'ad been too drunk to even get back to the flat, but obviously I was sober enough to achieve this…"

"Would you cover me up, please?" she asked silently, her voice trembling. "I'm cold."

"I can see tha'," he smirked and let his eyes rest upon her rather small bosom. He brought his hand to her bare stomach and trailed his fingers along her skin. He felt her wince by his touch, and he smiled. He ran his fingers over her bare breasts, to feel the fullness and the softness of them. The feeling of her was almost hypnotising.

"Please?" she breathed.

A shot of guilt ran through him. It was rather chilly in the room, and she must have been lying like that for the whole night. He sighed as he grabbed the cover and pulled it over her. "Did I 'urt you last night?" The question was sincere. He had no idea of what he had done to her.

She didn't answer, but her breathing increased.

He looked at her, and brought his hand to her face. "Tell me, lovely, was it really tha' bad?"

"Would you please untie me?" she asked, blinking away a tear. "I can't feel my fingers."

He reached for his wand, and then mumbled a counter-spell for the ropes around her wrists. Once her wrists were free, she rubbed them, and then hurried to place her cold arms underneath the cover. She still didn't look at him. He observed her for a while, studied her face, trying to read the faint emotions on it. "Are you alright?"

She turned away from him. "I'm fine."

He hated remorse. It was the single worst feeling in the entire world, and at this very moment, he truly did feel remorse. She was alive, at least. That was a good thing. But he did feel remorse. And the fact that he had no idea what he had done to her did not make it all better. But she wasn't bruised in her face, so he hadn't hit her. Over all she hadn't seemed bruised at all, just a bruise on one of her arms, but he had only seen her torso. He moved closer to her and slid his arm under the cover and around her waist. She did not push him away. "Where does it 'urt, love?" Slowly, he planted his lips on her shoulder and then brought them to her ear. "Tell me where it 'urts, love, an' I'll make the pain go away."

**.:{*}:.**

_Tell me where it 'urts, love, an' I'll make the pain go away… _those words made her shiver violently. Did he mean it? After all he had done? She felt broken. Beaten down. Her whole body was sore. Her heart raced because of the arm around her waist. Would he do it again? Would he be so cruel as to do it all again? She gasped as she felt his arm tense and pull her a bit closer.

His lips brushed against her ear. "Hate me if you must, darlin'," he said, "but you will find tha' fightin' me is a complete waste of time."

"When did I ever fight you?" Her voice was thickened by both cries and panic. She turned her head so that her lips were just below his. "It doesn't matter what I do, you'll still win."

He looked down on her. "Then why don' I know wha's goin' on inside tha' pretty little 'ead of yours?"

She turned away again. "You have infiltrated every possible part of me. Let me at least have my own head for myself."

His arm left her waist, and the coldness that replaced it was both welcomed and dreaded. Instead, he brought his hand to her face and forced her to turn it towards him. "I don't wanna 'urt you, love." He caressed her face with his thumb, and for some reason, it calmed her. Looking into his eyes, she knew he wasn't the same as last night. His touch was too tender for that. Although, that somehow scared her. His touch was tender yet deadly, she knew that. But at the moment, she was exhausted, and his touch was comforting and calming.

"I'm tired," she whispered.

His eyes wandered between her eyes and her lips a couple of times before he nodded. He released her face and brought his arm back around her waist and pulled her closer. She welcomed his sheltering. After a sleepless night, naked in the cold, with her hands tied above her head, any warmth was welcomed. And feeling now of that whatever he could come up with, nothing would be as bad as what he had already done, actually made her relax. Her body was too sore for her to fight him, and she was all too tired for an argument.

"You should get some sleep, beautiful," he mumbled as he caressed her skin right below her ribs where his hand was. "It will feel a bit better when you wake up."

Hermione didn't answer. She closed her eyes, and as she felt her heart slow down, and her body simply disappear, despite the soreness and the cold, she drifted off into sleep.

**.:{*}:.**

Harry had listened to Ron's plan. It was a good plan. The only problem, really, was that they had no idea where they would start their search. Hermione could be anywhere. Harry and Ron had made an agreement; they would both try to figure out plans of finding both Hermione and the nest Horcrux, and if necessary, they had decided to split up. So, they had talked to the Goblin, and they had talked to the Wandmaker. Something stirred inside of Harry's head; a plan was forming. However, the plan included all three of them, Harry, Ron and Hermione.

Bill wasn't at home. He had gone to meet with his father and the rest of the Order. Fleur tended to Ollivander and Griphook with a bit of help from Luna. Harry and Ron were down on the beach, discussing different strategies.

"I'm telling you, Ron," Harry said and looked at Ron as he paced back and forth, throwing pebbles into the water, "if Hermione had been here, she would have agreed with me! This is the only way!"

"Turning into Bellatrix Lestrange?" Ron asked. "Harry, that's mad! Brilliant, sure, but mad! And, if you ask me, that Goblin shouldn't be trusted. Besides, sooner or later, Bellatrix will probably go looking inside her vault to make sure the Horcrux is still there, and probably move it. We have to get there before she does! But, we won't be able to find Hermione before that."

"That's what I've been saying all along, Ron!" Harry said.

"Yeah, but what the bloody hell were you thinking when you came up with a brilliant plan designed for _three, _then?"

"Sure," Harry said and shrugged. "_You_ could always drink the potion and—"

"Don't!" Ron said with a disgusted frown. "Just… just don't, mate, okay? I'm not turning into Bellatrix Lestrange." He sighed, but then he knitted his brows. "Hey, Harry, not to be a killjoy or anything, but… didn't we store the Polyjuice Potion in—"

"Hermione's handbag," Harry finished and sighed heavily while he placed his hand over his face and groaned loudly.

"Blimey, Harry!" Ron sighed. "How did you think the plan would work now?"

"I don't know, Ron!" Harry exclaimed. "We'll—we'll make some more."

"Good luck," Ron snorted.

"Don't you think Bill may know where to get some of it, then?" Harry asked.

Ron seemed to think. "Maybe. I don't know."

"Well, we'll ask him then."

"But we still have no third part!"

"I can help." Luna's dreamy voice was heard from above them, as she stood right at the edge of the sandbank, looking down at them. "Just tell me what you want me to do. I'm sure I can cope."

Harry and Ron looked at each other. "Er, thanks, Luna," Harry said, "but I don't think you can help us with this, to be honest."

"Oh, but I do!" she said. "I only heard something about turning into Bellatrix Lestrange, and I can make a remarkable imitation of her."

"Well, Luna, I'm sure you can, but—"

"Don't you _dare_ defy the Dark Lork, you petty little _imbecile_!" she suddenly spat, making both Harry and Ron jump. She then smiled. "See? I told you. After hearing her scream rather a lot, it isn't hard to imitate her."

Once again Harry and Ron exchanged looks, now with a different intention.

"You know, Luna," Ron said, "maybe we could use your help after all."

"Oh," Luna smiled. "How lovely!" She walked down the riverbank to join them. "What are we doing then?"

Ron looked at her. "Luna, what do you know about Polyjuice Potion?"

As they went through the plan with Luna, they never mentioned anything about the Horcrux. Harry felt a bit bad dragging her into something she knew nothing about, but this mission was meant only for Harry, Ron and Hermione, and Luna didn't need to know more than that they were looking for something within the Lestranges' vault. The only problem they had now was the potion itself.

Harry was planning on asking Bill once he got back, but when he did, he was far too excited to even listen to Harry's request.

"I've got great news!" he said.

The others looked at him.

"Well," Ron said, "what are you waiting for? Spill it!"

"They haven't got Hermione!" he said, and both Harry and Ron gasped.

"She's alive?" Ron exclaimed. "She's _safe_?"

"I don't know where she is," Bill said. "I only know that she isn't at the Ministry, and she hasn't been taken by the Death Eaters. They suspect she's with you!"

Ron groaned loudly in relief. "Thank _Merlin_! So now they're at least not hunting her alone!"

Harry smiled. Of course she'd be clever enough to keep such a low profile, they'd never think she'd be alone. She was, after all, the brightest witch he knew.

**.:{*}:.**

When Hermione woke up, many hours later, she was alone. The warm and sheltering arm around her waist was gone. She rubbed her eyes and discovered purple marks around her wrists. She sighed and sat up. Her whole body ached, but it was a bit better than earlier that morning. She looked around for her clothes. They were lying at the foot of the bed, all but her torn sweater. Instead, there was a dark-blue sweater next to her jeans, a sweater she knew she had had in the bag. Somehow, she had expected him not to care one bit about her torn clothes. It would be just another way for him to humiliate her. However, that blue sweater lay there, waiting for her. She put the clothes on, and walked to the door. She hesitated. What if he waited for her? What if he had tricked her to put on a new sweater only so that he could rip it apart again? She pressed her ear to the door. The telly was on. Was Valerie there? She prayed to whatever higher being that would possibly listen, but deep in her mind she knew that Valerie was most certainly at work, because as she had said yesterday, she actually _did_ have a job to go to. She looked at the clock. It was half past four in the afternoon. If she was lucky, Valerie was done for the day. But Hermione didn't have that luck. She slowly turned the doorknob and walked out of the room with silent steps. She could see the telly from where she was. It was some documentary on seals or something. She took a deep breath before she entered the living-room. Scabior was sitting on the couch, flipping through the channels. Her heart began to race when she saw him, and she struggled not to run in the different direction.

"The only good thing the Muggles 'ave done, an' it's nothin' on it!" he said. He sighed and looked at her. "Did you sleep well?"

Hermione nodded.

"I bet you did," he chuckled. "You fell asleep a minute after we'd stopped talkin'." The then sighed. "Sorry 'bout the shirt, by the way. I tend to get a bit carried away."

Hermione clenched her jaw. _Carried away_. She'd heard him say that before.

"Are you hungry?"

"Not particularly," Hermione said. She tried to keep her voice cool and steady as she continued; "Do you know where Valerie keeps her towels? I'd like to take a shower."

"Look inside one of the big bathroom cabinets," Scabior said.

Hermione nodded and quickly made her way to the bathroom and locked the door. Not that it would make any difference; if he really wanted to enter, he could just unlock it with a flick of his wand. After making sure there were towels in the cabinet, she looked herself in the mirror. It was the first time in months. She looked weary and she had lost weight. No wonder, considering their very _satisfying_ and _varied_ diet and their oh-so-_comfortable _lifestyle during these last few months. She sighed heavily as she undressed and stepped into the shower. As she turned it on, she examined her body. Her wrists and her arm weren't the only parts of her body he had bruised; the hollows of her knees were faintly bruised, and so were her hipbones. She gritted her teeth. She felt so violated, so humiliated. That feeling of having absolutely no control whatsoever lingered fresh in her mind and made her shiver. But she would never yield. She let the hot, almost scalding water rain over her, and she tried to forget everything. She tried to forget his hands on her, she tried to forget the feeling of him, and most of all, she tried to forget how good it had felt sometimes during his very cruel abuse. She wanted to believe it was only her body's response, and not her head's, but she couldn't be sure. It didn't matter how much she hated it, she still felt something for that rugged, nasty thug, and no matter how much she wanted to get over those feelings, she couldn't. Why? Because she saw something there, some string of hope, a soul worth saving. Why else would someone like Valerie still believe in him? Nevertheless, she had to convince herself that Valerie was wrong and that he was far too gone to be saved. He was a bad man. He may have been good once, but he was a bad man. She would never let him win. Never. No, she needed to build up a facade, a believable face that would make him think she had succumbed. That he had won. That meant she would probably have to face other night like this one. However, now she knew what it felt like, and now she could prepare herself for it in other ways. She had to strengthen her pride and dignity to the point where no matter what he did to her, it would be the only things he could never take from her. Perhaps she even needed to urge him to feel as if he was truly in charge. She needed him to believe that she was no threat anymore, and once he did that, she would strike back, and strike back hard. She knew it would be hard and painful, but it was the only way.

"Keep your friends close," she mumbled, "but keep your enemies closer."

**.:{*}:.**

He heard the water run in the shower, and he sighed heavily. He had made such a fool of himself, he could barely stand it. What was he becoming? A rapist? He wasn't a _rapist_! He could have any woman he wanted! Why? Because he knew how to seduce them, he knew how to make them want him. He didn't _need_ to take it as far as rape. But he had done it, and he could barely believe it.

"Yeah," he muttered to himself. "Wha' a great way of gettin' 'er to trust you, you bloody idiot!"

Valerie had been right; he couldn't resist. She was only a _child_ for Merlin's sake! A Hogwarts-kid! She was what? Fifteen years younger, or something like that? He laughed at himself. How on earth could he do such a thing? He didn't exactly consider himself to be a very morally correct person, but this was just wrong. Perhaps not the idea, if the idea itself had been mutual, which it obviously wasn't, but the fact that he abused that idea to his own benefit… that was even below _him_, and he had done lots of questionable things in his life. Besides, did she deserve it? If she did, then he didn't have to feel so bad, but did she? No. She did not. The girl had taken his wand in pure self-defence. He would have done the same thing. He would even kill the old owner! She didn't, and for that, he was infinitely grateful. No, she did not deserve what he did to her. Nevertheless, his remorse could never be known. If Granger knew he regretted what he'd done, she could easily use it against him, and he simply couldn't have that.

He heard her turn off the shower and step outside. He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw. He could do this. He could pretend like he didn't feel any remorse whatsoever. That would keep her in line, wouldn't it? If anything, it would make her think he could do it again, and with that in mind, it was highly unlikely that she would defy him.

She stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel that ended a bit above her her knees and her hair dripping wet. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. She may be young, but that girl was prettier than any other woman he'd ever seen. She met his gaze, but looked away at once. She put a wet strand of hair behind her ear as her cheeks caught a faint shade of red. That's when he saw the purple bruise on her wrist.

"Come 'ere," he demanded. "Let me see your wrists."

Hesitantly, she walked closer to him.

"Sit." He patted on the couch next to him, and she sat down, her eyes focused on her lap. She tugged a bit at the short towel and tried to cover as much skin as possible. Scabior couldn't help but to fix his gaze on her lap, too, resisting the urge to touch her, to make her moan his name. He snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at her. "Give me your 'and."

She reached her hand for him to take, and he examined it. It was a nasty bruise.

"The other one," he demanded, and he reached her other hand over to him. It had the same nasty bruise. "I can fix it, if you'd like?"

She looked at him, and those eyes, that look, made him feel so superior, it was almost an intoxicating feeling. She had given in completely. She nodded. "I… I'd like that."

He placed his wand on each of her wrists as he muttered a healing spell to heal the bruises. "D'you 'ave any more?"

"On my knees," she said silently.

"Right," he said. "Stand up and turn." She did as told, and once she stood turned from him, he saw the bruises in the hollows of her knees. They weren't as bad as the one around the wrists, but they were bad enough. He healed them, and then he stood up. She turned to look at him. "Anywhere else?"

"No. Thank you."

"Well then," he said and raised an eyebrow. "Go an' get dressed."

For a moment she seemed as if she didn't know what to do, where to go. She looked at him in incomprehension before she turned and walked into the bathroom again. He stared after her, realising that resisting her would be hard, nearly impossible. But the worst thing was that he _had_ felt her, he just couldn't remember it.


	10. Shadows

**A/N:** Ooh.. the plot thickens.. seriously, I'm getting real interested in the past of my characters! :) I might even do a short little story about it! (anyone think that's a good idea? XD) Yeah, you're absolutely right.. of course you can read the chapter before you decide! ;)

Oh, and I made a tiny change in the first chapter about Scabior's time in Azkaban, because what I wrote there was not really.. well, good enough. Besides, it truly showed how bad I am at math, and I can't have that! :O

Anyways, here's chapter nine!

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Perfume<strong>_

**Chapter Nine**_  
>Shadows<em>

There it was again, that smell. He scanned his blue eyes across the darkled wasteland and growled under his breath.

"What's going on, boss?" Cain asked.

"Can you smell that?" Fenrir asked. He didn't expect Cain to feel anything, but Fenrir felt it, and it was a familiar smell. He had felt it now and then for the last two days, and now he felt it again. It was _her_ smell. He knew he shouldn't be paranoid, but her wrath wasn't what he needed right now. Especially not when Scabior was after them, too. If the two of them allied once again and decided to go after him, then he was in big trouble. He was already in enough trouble with the Death Eaters.

"Smell what?" Cain looked around.

"Nevermind," Fenrir growled.

"Look, boss," Cain sighed. "She's not here. How do we know she's not with Potter and Weasley? At least that's what the Death Eaters think."

"I just know it."

"How?"

"_I just know it_!" Fenrir roared and grabbed Cain by the collar. He growled as he stared at the Snatcher. He wanted to rip his head off, make him bleed, but he had to calm himself down. He tossed the Snatcher on the ground and turned away. "Search through the area again. Remember, she doesn't have a wand."

"Y-yes sir," Cain mumbled and hurried away, as did all the other Snatchers.

Fenrir was left alone as he looked out over the cold and naked wastelands of the Scottish Highlands. A breeze passed him by, and faintly, oh so faintly, he heard someone whisper his name; "_Fenrir_."

His heart almost stopped with fear as he thought he saw something in the corner of his eye; the figure of a woman, tall and majestic, but as he turned, no one was there. He shivered violently. He knew it was a bad idea to double-cross such a spiritually powerful being as a Druid. "Valerie?" he breathed. He looked around. No one was there.

Another whisper; "_Traitor_."

He spun around, but was still all alone. He took a deep, furious yet terrified, breath before he roared at the top of his lungs; "_Valerie!_"

**.:{*}:.**

She couldn't resist it. She hadn't been able to think about anything else but the necklace in her bathroom for the whole day, and once she got home before her shift at the pub, she simply had to put it on again, even if it meant being haunted by bad dreams and strange feelings. It felt as if the necklace completed her somehow. She knew the dreams were only because of her and her blood. As a Druid, she could connect with people in other ways, and a soulful and emotional gift created such a strong bond, a part of the one who bestowed the gift would forever linger in that gift. It was like giving away a part of a soul. Fenrir probably didn't know that when he gave her the necklace, though. Who would?

She shook her head as she stood behind the bar, fumbling with the hanging, thinking momentarily and involuntarily about Fenrir. She looked out over the night's poor crowd of drunken sods; she had better things to do than to watch over old, drunken men. Her concerns were elsewhere. She didn't like to leave the poor girl alone with Scabior. When she left that morning, Scabior hadn't returned, and somehow, she didn't expect him to, either. That was just… him. Turning up one day, gone the next. She had almost hoped he wouldn't come back. That way, she wouldn't be mixed into something she couldn't get out of. And the girl would be left alone. But no matter what she wished, he still sat there in the kitchen, drinking tea, when she got home from her first job. He had apparently spent the night with some young, drunken woman, and it didn't surprise Valerie one bit. He had that about him. He could have any girl he wanted, and he took advantage of that whenever he didn't have anywhere else to go, or as the case was last night, when he was too drunk to _know_ where to go. However, now when he was back, Valerie knew that he was serious. He wanted to kill Greyback. Otherwise he would have left, being the elusive man that he was. And now Valerie stood there, behind the bar, worrying that Scabior might do something to the fragile, unarmed girl in her apartment.

"Hey, love," someone called, and she snapped out of her thoughts. "Another pint!"

"Of course, handsome," Valerie smiled and poured the intoxicated man another pint.

He took the glass and leaned against the bar. "What's a lass like ye doin' in a place like this?"

Valerie smiled. "Who else would serve ye yer pints?"

The drunken man smiled with weary eyes. "Ye're a fine lass now, aren't ya?"

"The finest there is," Valerie smiled.

"When do ye get off then?" The man blinked with one eye, and Valerie rolled her eyes.

"Not in yer lifetime, mate," she said.

"Aw, come on, love," he groaned. "Don't be a tease!" He reached over the bar to grab her by her arm, but she pulled back and stared at him, her blood boiling. She had the wand in her pocket. She could easily use it, teach him a lesson. However, she'd had enough experience with using magic amongst drunken Muggles, it would last her a lifetime.

"Sorry, love, but I'll only tell ye this once," she growled and pointed her finger towards the man; "Stay in line, or ye'd had enough to drink for the night."

Suddenly, the man changed and his face turned deep red. "Why, ye little cunt! What ye take then, eh? A tenner? A tenner for a fuck, eh?"

Valerie's eyes darkened. "Two fifty for the pint there, love."

"And a tenner for yer ass then?"

"Just pay, alright? Pay and get out of me sight."

"Ye little bitch, ye know that?" the man snarled as he pulled out a handful of coins from his pocket. But before he handed the money over to Valerie, he spat in his palm, all over the money and smirked as he dropped them in her hand, and walked away.

Valerie growled under her breath as she placed the coins on a paper napkin and dried her hand on her black apron. She was sick of this now. Sick of everything. Sick of being pushed around. She was a Druid, for Merlin's sake! No, she was a _Druidess_, and a strong one, too. She didn't deserve being treated like some bloody whore every night. In pre-historic times she would have been treated like deity, by witches and wizards as well as Muggles. But now she was treated like vermin, by both sides. She breathed heavily. This was an anger she had tried to oppress. She didn't want to become like her parents. She wanted to give her people a good reputation and bring them back to society, but it was so hard. The shadows of the past hung heavily over her. The only ones that had truly ever appreciated her powers were Scabior, and Fenrir. But only one of them had stayed with her.

Once again, the thought of Fenrir polluted her mind, and she closed her eyes, feeling how a lone tear wanted to escape, but she held it back. "Fenrir," she whispered and squeezed the necklace. There was a sudden flash before her eyes; a man she did not recognise, but he had _his_ eyes… she flung her eyes open and found herself still behind the bar. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she processed what she just had seen. It was the same taunting look the wolf had had in her dream… she sighed and shook her head. "Traitor," she muttered to herself as she let the hanging drop, and then returned to focusing on the drunken crowd.

**.:{*}:.**

She held the cup of hot tea in her hands as she looked at the Snatcher sitting across the table. It was half past ten in the evening. Valerie would be back soon. Hermione had been on edge the whole evening, trying to find courage to put her plan into action. Letting him heal her had been an immediate progress, but it hadn't been as easy as she hoped. Afterwards, she had gone into the bathroom to get dressed, and it had taken her thirty minutes at the least to stop trembling. Now, she was sitting in front of him, joining him for tea. They hadn't spoken much, only elusive, meaningless words, but they had been civil, at least. His eyes lingered on her the whole time, like a wolf sizing up its prey. Her heart was racing as she prepared herself to be attacked at any moment.

He narrowed his eyes. "You really don' like me, do you, lovely?"

She took a deep breath, trying to gather her strength and courage. "I believe I have enough reasons to dislike you. Don't you?"

He smiled. "You 'ave."

Hermione looked down on the cup in her hands. "Why are you doing this to me?" She looked up again. "What did I do?"

"I always get wha' I want, love," he said.

"And why do you want _me_?" The question was sincere, and something she had been thinking about for a long time. Why her? Why a _Mudblood _like her where there was plenty of fish in the sea?

His intense eyes scared her a bit as he replied; "You were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Or, at the _right _place at the _right _time, dependin' on 'ow you see it." He eyed her before he continued; "it was your smell, beautiful. Tha' perfume. But you already know tha, don' you? Why did you wear it in the first place?"

Hermione quickly looked away, feeling how her cheeks turned red. "I wanted to… cheer someone up."

"Well," he said and raised an eyebrow, "you certainly cheered _me_ up."

She looked up at him again. "Do you hate Muggleborns?"

The question had seemed to take him off guard. He shook his head. "Obviously not. If I 'ad, then you wouldn' be 'ere, love."

"Then how can you do this?" she asked. "Capture innocent people and turn them in like that? Don't you have a conscience?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I just do it for a livin'."

She huffed. "There are plenty of things to do for a living! Why pledge allegiances to the Death Eaters if you don't believe what they believe?" She couldn't understand why she was having this discussion with such a dangerous man, but she simply couldn't keep her mouth shut.

He knitted his eyebrows. "Who's said anythin' about 'pledgin' allegiances'? Love, I play for the winnin' team, tha's all. Tha' could be the Order of the _bloody _Phoenix for all I care, as long as I get me bread!"

She clenched her jaw in submission. The Snatcher had his own philosophy about life, and she could do nothing to change it. However, she simply couldn't let go of it. "So, you'd rather be lowest in rang for a few galleons per catch than fight for what's right?"

He smiled, and once again, the piercing intensity in his eyes, made her blood freeze. "You don' get it, do you? It's not just about the money. It's not about climbin' in rang with the Death Eaters. It's all about the thrill of the chase, love. It's all about the freedom. To sit by a fire, on a starry night, and feel the smell of evergreen, an' then free your mind from all worries an' back-breakin' questions by sprintin' through the woods, chasing people tha' feel somethin' as strong as _fear_ for you… it's the _thrill _of it. When we do tha', we're at the top of the world, somewhere we've never been. Tha's wha' it's about, love." He had leaned forwards while he spoke, and when he stopped talking, his eyes went blank for a second, as if he disappeared into his own mind, before he cleared his throat and sat back up again. "As you may 'ave noticed, love, Snatchers aren' exactly the richest of sods, an' never were. We're not wanted anywhere. Outcasts of society, given a chance to prove ourselves. We all 'ave a place in the world now, don' we?"

She couldn't find words, because what he just said was just as beautiful as it was terrifying, and something had altered in her opinion of him. If it was for the better or for the worse, she couldn't tell. "You could be something better," she breathed. She was being partly honest; she did believe that any man or woman could achieve great things, however, now when she had made up her mind about his character, she didn't want to change it. That could cost her; if not her life, then perhaps the chance to ever be free again.

He snorted and rose. "Somethin' better?" He shook his head and he walked up to the sink and placed his empty cup in it. "An' wha' would be better than wha' I already 'ave?"

"Freedom. _Real _freedom." She had no idea where she was going with this, but she kept on going, kept on diving to what seemed like certain death, like a Kamikaze-pilot. "The freedom to do whatever you want, go wherever you want it. You say your position as Snatcher grants you that freedom… but for you, it's not enough, is it?" The words flew out of her like vomit, and she had no idea how he would take it. Nevertheless, she truly felt like she had finally gotten a bit more meat on the bones when it came to his character. This cold and cruel, and yet so tantalising man she before regarded as shallow and seamless now proved to be patched and stitched with greater depth than she'd ever expected. She was so taken aback by this revelation, she had to remind herself of her own conviction of him being a bad man without the possibility to change.

He stood with his back turned from her, and she held her breath, afraid that he might have taken offence. "We all want somethin' better, love. But some of us just… can' 'ave it."

"How do you know?"

He turned. "Wha' you mean?"

"How do you know you can't have something better?" She looked at him. "You said you always got you wanted."

"Love, tha's the one thing I can never 'ave." He turned his eyes to the window and stared out into the night. "To understand the meanin' of freedom, you 'ave to understand wha' it means to be without it."

Hermione knitted her eyebrows. Had she touched a sore spot, or the right spot? She couldn't possibly know, but she felt now, more than ever, that this man might be close to a bottomless hole when it came to depth. "What happened to you?" she whispered.

He threw a glare at her, and his body tensed, but before he could say or do anything, the door opened and Valerie burst in.

"I _hate_ me job!" she barked. She kicked off her shoes and lumbered into the kitchen. She looked at the two and raised a brow. "What are ye doin'?"

"Drinkin' tea," Scabior said.

She looked sceptic. She turned to Hermione. "Did he do something to ye, love?"

Hermione shook her head, and added a smile for reassurance. "No." The courage she had been looking for the whole day finally landed inside of her once she realised that Scabior was just as human as she was, and had his flaws and weaknesses. She had realised now, that his weakness was his past, and that it had darkened him, scarred him and characterised him, made him to whomever he was. To gain his trust, to make herself look harmless to him, she would have to make him confide in her, and then take him out when his guard was at its lowest, and she had to do it alone.

_You sound like a bloody Slytherin_, she thought bitterly. Use a person like that? It wasn't like her. _Where is your bloody Gryffindor valour?_ But it was necessary. She wouldn't let him win. _Survival of the fittest_.

**.:{*}:.**

Scabior was boiling on the inside, and he could swear on that he saw red. How dared she? How _dared_ she judge him like that? She knew _nothing_ about him. _Nothing_! When Valerie stormed into the flat, he was just as relieved as angered. If she hadn't shown up right there, right then, he would have killed the girl. He would have broken her neck. No one – _no one!_ – would ever have the right to tell him what he wanted or what he ought to want, and especially not a _child_. He chewed in the insides of his mouth to keep himself calm. Valerie asked if he'd hurt her, and she said no. Why? Was it a trick to think she could be trusted? If he could laugh at that moment, he would have. No, he wouldn't trust that girl for anything in the world. She had offended him so severely, she deserved his wrath. However, Valerie had been pleased with the answer and was now going on about her worthless job.

"He spit—_he spit_ in me hand!" she cried. "Can ye believe that?"

But Scabior didn't listen. He needed… he needed to kill something. He needed to kill something now. Or at least, he needed to get out of the apartment, and into the wild. He felt too trapped, like a cornered animal. He looked at Valerie. "Pack wha'ever you need for your mumbo-jumbo. We're goin' tonight."

She silenced and looked him in incomprehension. "What?"

"We are puttin' the plan into action," he said flatly. "An' we're doin' it tonight."

"Ye can't be serious, Scab!" she snorted. "We don't know what to do!"

"We know exactly wha' to do," he said. "Kill Greyback. Now, pack your things."

"Look, Scab, I'm not—"

He grabbed her by the collar and glared at her. "Pack your things, Valerie."

She gazed up at him, fear flashing across her big, grey eyes. "Alright. Alright, Scabior. We'll go tonight."

**.:{*}:.**

_Shadows_. They were everywhere. Greyback tried not to be paranoid, but it was impossible. In every alleyway, in every corner, he saw her. Ever since earlier that evening, in the wastelands, he couldn't stop thinking about it, and now he was hurrying to the one person he never thought he'd never have to meet again. Just a detour, he had told the other Snatchers. Just a detour in Knockturn Alley, and they didn't even have to come. They could entertain themselves as they pleased, which they all appreciated greatly.

He stood on the doorstep, with the familiar gargoyle-head staring at him, and he raised his hand to knock. But it was no need. The door swung open, and a familiar, chilling voice invited him to step inside. He was hesitant but entered the building and heard the door close behind him.

"Fenrir, in here," the woman called from the inner room, and he took a deep breath before he entered it. There she sat, by her round table, looking into a crystal ball. Her long, curly, grey hair was braided, and her dark, almost black eyes were focused in the crystal ball. "Fenrir," she repeated.

"Aunt Arabetha," he greeted, trying his best to sound polite.

"You're late," she snapped, not taking her eyes off the crystal ball.

"I didn't know we had an appointment," he said and raised an eyebrow.

She looked up at him, her eyes bored. "Don't be silly. Sit."

He did as told and looked around nervously. He disliked this place.

"You're mighty changed, Fenrir," she said as she turned her eyes back at the ball. "You're not the same sweet boy you once were."

Fenrir snorted. "That was a long time ago."

"How's your lycanthropy going?" Her voice dripped with scorn and sarcasm and a smirk spread across her wrinkled face.

"Never been better," he said through gritted teeth.

She shook her head and placed the crystal ball on a stand behind her. She then looked at him. "What can I do for you, Fenrir?"

"I need protection," he said. "Strong protection."

"Ah," she smirked. "Have you been running into any more Druids lately, or what is it this time? A vampire? Or perhaps you have some unfinished business with a hag?" She laughed.

Fenrir bit his tongue.

She looked at him. "Where's the necklace I gave you?"

"I gave it away."

Her eyes widened with fury. "You gave—_you gave it away_?"

Fenrir remained calm. "Yes."

"Do you have _any_ idea of how difficult it was for me to get a hold of that?" The old woman took a deep breath to calm herself. "Well? Who did you give it to?"

"I gave it to her." He didn't need to say anymore than that.

Arabetha closed her eyes. "You gave away a sacred Celtic piece of silver, from _Cliodna_ herself, to a Druid? A Druid that could very well be related to her?"

"Yes."

"And now you expect me to give you a new protection?"

"Yes."

She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. "When will you ever learn, Fenrir?" She glared at him. "Do you have any idea of what you've done? That necklace enhances that Druid's powers significantly, now when she's in touch with her ancestors. She could be a threat to all of us!"

Fenrir shook his head. "She's not like that." Then he sighed. "She would never hurt people. Only me."

Arabetha raised her brows. "How can you be so sure about that?"

Fenrir glared at her. "I know her well enough. Nonetheless, I fear she's discovered my betrayal. I need a protection from her wrath."

The old woman growled under her breath and slowly rose from her chair. "How dare you?" she growled darkly. "How dare you come here and demand such things? First you burst in here, after _years_ of absence, and demand protection, and not just any protection, no, but _Celtic_ protection. Then, you come here again and demand a way to stop Druid magic, for your own _selfish_ reasons. _Then_, you burst in here once more, after another lingering silence from you, and demand a way of becoming more powerful than ever, just so that you could earn your way to the Dark Lord's inner circle, but when I deny you that help, you spit on me, your own family, your own _blood_, and declare your hatred for me. Yet here you are again, demanding protection against a wrath I _warned_ you—"

"Will you or will you not help me?" Fenrir barked so loudly, it startled the old woman. "Because if you won't, this is just a waste of my time."

Arabetha shook her head. "There is no protection for this, Fenrir. If her wrath is aimed at you, set to destroy you, nothing could save you. I warned you. I warned you about what could happen if you ever double-crossed such a powerful being. But you refused to listen."

"So you're telling me there's no way?"

Arabetha sighed and frowned. "There's only one way if she's after you," she said.

"And that is?"

"Fenrir, I know how you feel about her—"

"_And that is_?"

"You have to burn her and return her ashes to the sacred Tree of Life and Death," Arabetha said rather quietly. "That is the only way to stop the wrath of a Druid, and to make sure the spirit won't return, you have to give it back to nature."

Fenrir stared at the woman. It was the fact he had been avoiding, the question he had been dreading do ask; "I will have to kill her?"

Arabetha nodded. "You will have to kill her."


End file.
